The Mirror Crack'd From Side to Side
by grangerinvestigations
Summary: The crucio curse left Hermione Granger with a shattered mind and a fractured soul. Now the girl she created has come to collect her debt: Hermione's life. And she has some sick ideas of revenge... HG/DM Deathly Hallows compatible. Complete. Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. All characters belong to Jo!**

**Author's Note: This story takes its M rating seriously. You have been warned... **

**Prologue**

Pain_. Pain beyond imagining. Pain beyond anything she had dreamed or feared. Pain no one could have prepared her for, no one could have warned her about. Pain she could never have learned from school or her books, pain that only could be believed first-hand. All encompassing, all knowing. Pain that left no room for light or sound or reason or love. There was nothing but the pain. Again and again and again… _

_And then she was beside herself, watching the torture and feeling nothing. She breathed deeply, relief filling the space the pain had occupied. She was free! But another girl was still taking the curse and she too had brown bushy hair and brown eyes that would never see anything but the evil witch before her and never hear anything but the deep breathing of the filthy man waiting for his turn. And she knew that if the werewolf got that other girl, she would suffer a fate worse than pain, worse than death, worse, even, than turning into a wolf herself. She could not let that happen. She had to help that girl, even if that would mean feeling the pain again. Could she do it? Was it fair to ask that girl to suffer in her place? No. She was Hermione Jean Granger, best friend to Harry Potter, chosen for Gryffindor, and she could take it. She was brave enough, she was strong enough. She _had_ to do it; she tried to reach out to the suffering girl, to ease them back together, but she came short, and she couldn't reach her. She couldn't help her. _

_And the girl getting tortured turned to her twin and silently begged her to help, to divide the suffering, but the other girl could not. Or was it that she would not? All rational thought was gone, and suddenly she knew it was not a question of could. The other girl _would_ not help her. Why did that girl hate her, why must she suffer in her place? She listened to the other girl speak, as her own tongue could do nothing but scream. She heard the girl choke out lies about fake swords and she bristled, knowing that _she_ wasn't hurt, _she_ wasn't damaged. That other Hermione could still think, could still feel. But for _her_, there was nothing but pain. _

_And when it was over, the other girl didn't need her anymore. That girl slipped back in control, as if _her_ sacrifice had meant nothing. As if she _was_ nothing. But she was still there, still in pain, and waiting for release. She was trapped inside that girl, trapped in the dark, where the only sounds were her own screams, and that word – _crucio_. But even in the dark she could see that other girl. She watched her always, eager for the chance to sneak out, to switch places so that _she_ may know what pain felt like. It wouldn't do to come out too soon, during the madness and confusion. What did she want with a ruined life? Oh no, she could wait until things were good, things were happy, things were safe. She would bide her time, and when the moment was right… Jean would have her turn._

X X X X

It was a pretty day, nothing special, really, but pretty just the same. Mild weather, few clouds. A perfectly nice, normal day. Just like any other day. Hermione and Ron spent the morning shopping with Harry and Ginny in Diagon Ally. The friends were just strolling around, nowhere to be, nothing to do. Six years after the Battle of Hogwarts the foursome still drew stares, even in places they frequented, but they were used to it by now. They chatted, made plans, joked and laughed. Ron now ran Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes with his brother George, and although he had Saturdays off, he couldn't resist a quick trip to check the merchandise and to trade quips with his brother. It was how Ron and Hermione spent most Saturday mornings: surrounded by laughter, friends and family. Perfectly nice, perfectly normal. A typical Weasley/Potter outing.

And if Hermione was a little quieter than usual, no one noticed amongst the jokes and carrying on. She felt a bit off, but nothing too out of the ordinary. She had awoken that morning feeling completely happy and content and had smiled at her reflection in the mirror, pleased to be Mrs. Ron Weasley, pleased to be in her new job of Magical Law Enforcement, pleased just to _be_. Her life was perfect. No children yet, but that could come soon enough. For now, she was young, happy, in love and the world was a safe and wonderful place. She knew she was being sappy – borderline ridiculous, really, but she couldn't remember the last time she had felt so _satisfied_. She fluffed out her already frizzy hair and made a few un-Hermione-like faces in the mirror, just goofing off and grinning. And then mirror had – _shifted_, it seemed. For just a moment, she thought she had seen another face looking back at her, one that tugged at a memory she preferred not to access. But then it had been gone, and it didn't come back. She knew she was being silly – that face didn't exist – but although she tried to shake her unease it left her feeling slightly…_off_.

Oh well. She'd feel better later.

_Finally, after all this time, she had her chance. Inside her jailor, Jean smiled for the first time in her miserable life. It felt like it would split her face in half, and it wasn't a happy smile, but it _was_ full of terrible glee. That _girl_ was happy. Content. Satisfied with her life. She couldn't have that, now could she? It just wouldn't be fair. Not for her, who suffered without end, who was trapped inside a mind that refused to recognize her. It was _her_ time now. She was forming a hold on the girl; she would be in control soon, and Hermione's (that_ girl's_) life would come tumbling down. Finally._

XXXX

When Jean woke the next morning, she stretched luxuriously, free from pain for the first time in longer than she could remember. She ran a hand through her sleep tousled hair, tugging lightly at the curls. It was shorter than she remembered, but still wild and frizzy, the way Jean liked it. That girl might think her hair was a curse, but Jean knew it made her special. People remembered her hair, in all its thick, unruly glory. It was the girl's (_MINE_!) best feature. Her body was slim and free from blemishes; it was hard to believe that great amount of pain and suffering left no marks. _That's because they're all on the inside._ She looked fondly at the sleeping figure beside her, a figure that had given her comfort inside her pain-filled prison. _He_ had cared when she was hurt – she remembered the way his screams echoed hers every time that evil witch cast her curse. True, he thought she was the other girl, but that didn't matter. He had still wept for her, screamed for her, ached for her. She didn't know how she could hurt the girl without hurting him, but every war had its casualties. She'd simply do her best, and if he fell along the way, so much the worse for the girl.

She rose without waking him and strode to the mirror, trying out arms and legs that were finally not hobbled in pain. Just as she'd suspected, she saw the girl looking back at her, eyes filled with agony and a terrible recognition. She thought she saw regret in those eyes, too, and guilt, but it was far too late for that. The girl had made her bed, and that was that. She stuck her tongue out at the reflection and raised her eyebrows in challenge: _What are _you_ going to do about it?_

She took a long hot shower, relishing the feel of the water on her skin and thanking God that the girl's husband was such a heavy sleeper. She wanted to leave the house before he woke up, wanted a little time to herself. She was owed some peace and quiet, wasn't she? She dressed quickly in muggle clothing, tying her hair in a pony tail and grabbing the girl's (_it's _mine_, not hers!_) wand from the dresser. She scrawled a quick note in the kitchen: **Back later. Love you - Hermione.** She gagged a little as she signed the girl's name, but she knew she had to be careful not to arouse suspicion this early into her plan. She knew the girl well, and was confident she would have no trouble slipping into her shoes. Wasn't she just reclaiming her own life anyway?

Jean knew she would have to take her time, to set her traps slowly and not rush headlong into the destruction she wanted to cause. She was a patient girl. She'd waited six long, pain-filled years to get her revenge. She could wait a little longer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own HP.**

**A/N The M rating is in full effect. **

Jean had been living Hermione's life for three weeks when she finally decided to act. She had been enjoying herself immensely – didn't the girl have a charmed life? Didn't she have everything that was supposed to be Jean's? She made love to the girl's husband, laughed with the girl's friends, worked tirelessly at the girl's job. Her hunger for Ron was insatiable, enough that he had happily asked if they were on a second honeymoon. Jean had smiled and kissed him passionately; her love for him banished much of her painful memories. Whenever possible she positioned them in front of the mirror, where the girl was sure to see and add to her anguish. It furthered Jean's satisfaction.

She never slipped up, never caused anyone to doubt. They were the same, weren't they? She knew her, probably better than the girl knew herself. Free from her pain, she could think clearly for the first time in her life. Was the girl as bad as she thought? Maybe they could just – share? Share the life, share the love? Did she really want to ruin the girl and all of her friends and family in the process? She spent a whole day in bed, feigning illness and thinking hard. She almost gave up, had actually walked to the mirror and had opened her mouth to speak to the girl. But when she saw her, and saw the pain she was suffering, her resolve hardened. Hadn't the girl left her to that pain? Hadn't she cried and begged for six long years? She didn't believe the girl has been ignorant of her this whole time. She _had_ to have known what Jean was going though. It was _her_ time to lead now. And Jean knew just what to do to cause the girl harm. She had been planning her revenge for a long time. It was almost too perfect; sure to cause the maximum damage possible. Jean supposed she was mad, but what could one expect from someone who had endured so much agony? Madness was the only defense she had. It didn't matter. Soon enough the girl would be mad, too, and Jean could slip silently away, and watch Hermione reap all that she had coming to her. Stage one would begin tonight.

X X X X

Draco Malfoy read the owl's message for the tenth time that night. He still couldn't make heads or tails of it, but to say he wasn't intrigued would be a lie. He traced the words with his fingers. **Malfoy - We've got things to discuss. Meet me? Muggle bar, The Witch's Brew. Midnight tonight. You'll be able to find it. Granger.**

Of course, she wasn't really Granger anymore, was she, but she must have known that's how he still thought of her – when he thought of her at all, which thankfully wasn't often, at least not when he was awake. It had been six years since the Dark Lord had fallen, and the Malfoys had worked hard to restore their name and fortune. Harry's testimony that Narcissa had saved him went a long way, but he knew that they would never be respected as they once were. He'd moved on – married a pretty pureblood, started a nice life. It wasn't as grand as it used to be, but the Malfoys still had plenty of money, and life goes on. He was mostly content with the way things were, and among his circle of friends and family, things hadn't changed that much. He liked order and he hated surprises, which was why he was even now looking at her note with disbelief.

Why was that mudblood (his mind spoke the dirty word, though he'd never dare voice it aloud now) Granger contacting him now? What was her angle? He hadn't seen any of his old enemies up close in awhile, and he liked it that way. He wanted Potter and Co. as far from him as possible, and he could only imagine that they felt the same. Unbidden, an image of Granger swam in his head – her screaming on the floor, writhing in agony as his Aunt Bellatrix tortured her. He remembered the werewolf off to the side, his eyes never leaving Granger, practically panting in his readiness. It made Draco ill to think about it; of course he suffered his own bought of torture that day, too, at the hands of the Dark Lord – they all had. Somehow, he still thought Granger got the rawer deal, though. Aunt Bella had been good at her job, after all. He hadn't wanted to reveal her identity that day – not hers, Potter's, or even Weasley's. No matter how much he had hated them, part of him still recognized them as his classmates and could not stomach condemning them to the Dark Lord. He had been sick with fear and revulsion even before his torture began that day, horrified by the Gryffindors' fate. When the Dark Lord arrived, incensed that Potter had once again escaped, he could spare no thoughts for anything but his own anguish, and the tiny relief he felt that they had all escaped. It was a good thing he was skilled at Occlumency

Prior to his sixth year, he'd often fantasized about capturing the three of them himself and torturing them mercilessly. It was his fondest dream, the one that comforted him when Potter outperformed him in Quidditch, when Granger outperformed him in classes, and when he saw the easy affection between Weasley and his siblings. He had hated the three of them irrationally and passionately, more for what they stood for than for who they were. In his daydreams, he often did more than just torture Granger – often with Potter and Weasley watching, powerless to stop him. She always screamed as he tore into her, years of mingled resentment and buried lust erupting as he had his way. He wanted to be the one to put her in her place, the one to show her what mudbloods were worth. The screams that his aunt had wrought from her were horrifyingly close to the ones from his dreams, the dreams that had faded in his sixth year when he had been given the job of murder. It sickened him now to remember those fantasies, the ravings of a spoiled, entitled boy. He was no longer that boy, any more than she was still a bucktoothed know-it-all. What in the hell did she want from him now? Some wounds should never be reopened. Weren't they better off without those old rivalries? As he was thinking this, he was rising from his seat, preparing himself to meet her. His curiosity would not allow otherwise.

X X X X

Jean knew the boy well, as well as she knew any of the girl's friends and family. Hadn't she seen him that day, standing to the side and lifting not a finger to help her? He was there the day she was born, his sickened expression doing nothing to lessen her pain, nothing to alleviate her suffering. He stood by and watched her get tortured, and indeed had been torturing her in his own way since they were children. For she did share memories with the girl, and the blond boy's taunts and sneers left scars as deep as her torture. She could see the word_ mudblood _in his eyes at all times, even without him saying it. But she could also see him in ways the girl had not been able – could see that despite everything, a part of him desired her. Although her torment made many thoughts impossible, in other ways it gave her clarity. She had seen the way his eyes flicked between her and the werewolf, who stood eagerly to the side. Jean had thought that Malfoy's wariness of Greyback was stemmed in part by the fear that the werewolf would possess her before he could. He probably wanted his aunt to give her to _him_. She watched later in disgust and disbelief as the girl and her friends rescued Malfoy at Hogwarts. _Twice!_ Didn't they know what he was? She'd make sure the girl had no such illusions this time around.

Six years was a long time and they weren't in school anymore. Old rules no longer existed, even if the prejudices that created them still did. Would he act on his old desires? Did he still feel the same way? Jean hadn't seen the boy much in the past few years, but she knew better than most that hatred and desire were often linked and were slow to die. She also knew that any relationship with Malfoy would destroy the girl. As a bonus, it would probably destroy him, too. This was going to be fun.

X X X X

Hermione was allowed one horrified thought – _God, not Malfoy!_ as she stared out of the mirror overlooking the bar before Jean smirked back at her and walked toward the blond wizard sitting alone at a table. He looked distinctly uncomfortable to be in a muggle establishment; he had a beer in front of him, but it looked untouched. She was sure that her presence made things doubly strange to him. Hermione knew Jean's plan (_wasn't it her own plan? wasn't it her own punishment?_) but she still held hope that she wouldn't go through with it. As Jean got closer to Malfoy Hermione could feel her own disgust mirrored back at her. Why, if Jean hated Malfoy as much as she did, was she willing to debase herself, debase both of them? Hermione knew Jean's thirst for revenge was greater than such things as self-respect, but she prayed that the girl would stop herself before it was too late. What could be gained by this, other than heartache and more suffering? Was Jean so far gone that she would do anything to hurt Hermione, even align herself with the man now before them? She knew Jean as she knew herself, and she feared the answer.

Draco tried to arrange his features in haughty disinterest when he spotted Granger, but knew that he still looked worried and quizzical. Granger looked beautiful, he had to admit – there seemed a strange fierceness to her he didn't remember, and it made her all the more appealing. He hoped his admiration didn't show on his face; nothing would be more humiliating than giving Granger an inkling of his past desires. And he was a married man, after all. There was little chance Granger had summoned him for pleasurable reasons anyway.

"Malfoy.

"Granger."

"It's Mrs. Weasley now, in case you've forgotten.

"Oh, did you and the Weasel make it official? I wasn't aware. Must have missed the five page spread in the _Prophet_. Potty and Weaslette got ten; you must have been livid."

"Well, it was better than the paragraph you garnered."

He bristled but plowed on. "You're the one that signed your letter Granger, in case you forgot. Was there some sort of message in that? Trouble in paradise? I'm not a divorce lawyer, Granger, I can't help you."

Jean smiled. Same old Malfoy. She had dressed carefully that evening, had spent extra time on her hair and makeup. She knew it had been worth it; his old lust for her was radiating off of him in waves. This was going to be easier than she thought.

"Old habits die hard, I guess," she said. "We were always Malfoy and Granger to one another, weren't we? But I like being Mrs. Weasley, and my marriage is perfectly fine, thanks for asking. How's yours? Greengrass, right? A few years behind us?"

"That's right," he answered, completely nonplussed by their small talk. What did she _want_? "My marriage is great, too. Astoria comes from a very old family; my parents were thrilled with the union."

"I bet Pansy was pissed," Jean said, smirking at the thought. God, she hated that bitch. She'd had no real personal experiences with her, of course, but the girl's thoughts were very clear on the subject of Miss Parkinson, and for once Jean agreed with her.

Draco laughed, caught off guard by Granger's comment. "I doubt she cared. Pansy's been married to Theo Nott since we graduated Hogwarts. He's got his hands full, I'm sure. Story's friends with his sister, but we kind of drifted apart when I was…" He stopped. _When I was playing Death Eater._

Jean's own smile faded, as if she had read his thoughts. "Too bad for Nott. Of course he was kind of a bastard himself, wasn't he?"

Draco laughed again. "Yeah, I guess – no, he was alright. I doubt you got much of his good side."

"That's an understatement, although I suppose he wasn't nearly as bad as some others."

Draco's remaining good humor vanished at her statement. "I guess our niceties are over, then? No longer pretending we're on a social call, then, are we? What are we doing here, Granger? You said we had things to discuss. What 'things' could we possibly have to discuss? Did you just want to tell me off? You got some long-ago beef to pick?"

"Malfoy –"

"I know," he continued, "this is some sort of meeting where you try to trick me into saying something, and then cart me off to Azkaban, right? I know you're working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement now. Finally given up on elves, have you? Coming to take me away?"

"Guilty conscience, Malfoy?"

"What do you want, Granger?" he snapped again. "Why did you ask me to come to this stupid muggle place?"

"I didn't think anyone would see us here," she said, watching him closely for his reaction.

"Planning on doing me in, Granger?"

"Not exactly doing you _in_. More like just doing you." She was shocked at her own boldness, and a little queasy, but the girl's reaction made it worth it. She could feel the girl's outrage inside her, and it gave her the strength to keep her eyes trained on Malfoy's gobsmacked face.

He could utter no more than: "_What_?"

"You heard me. They rent rooms upstairs." Again, her stomach did a sickening flip, but she kept her voice steady. _It's worth it_, she told herself. _Hurting the girl is worth it._

"Granger, you're out of your gourd," Draco could still barely speak. "If this is some sort of trick to get Weasley after me, I'm not biting. Nice try. You're hilarious, you really are, but I don't have time for your games. I'm getting out of here."

"You don't want to do that, Malfoy, I know you don't, unless you mean upstairs. I already have a room for us. It's a little seedy, but I think that adds to the effect."

"What the hell are you on, woman?" he sputtered. "Seriously, when are Potter and Weasley popping out? Don't you have anything better to do than torment me? School was a long time ago; why are you still trying to get one over on me?"

"School _was_ a long time ago, Draco," she said, saying his first name for the first time. It felt dirty in her mouth. "I think we've both grown up a lot since then. I can tell you have."

"Granger, this is ridiculous. I'm not falling for your shit." Draco could feel that a part of him _was_ falling for it, however, and he prayed she would leave before him. He would be humiliated if she saw him in this state.

"Come now, Malfoy," she said, reverting to his last name again. It felt much more natural, and she hoped she wouldn't have to say _Draco_ again. "Aren't you the least bit curious about me? Don't you want to see if my knowledge extends outside the classroom?"

Draco looked at her in utter shock. That was _exactly_ what he wanted to know. He loved his wife, he really did, but he couldn't deny his hunger for Granger. This _had_ to be a trick.

"I know you're married, Malfoy," she said, echoing his thoughts. "So am I. I love Ron desperately, and despite my presence here, he's perfect in bed."

"I'm going to throw up."

"But sometimes we need a little bit extra, don't you think?" Jean could tell he was close to caving. The girl was still howling in protest, but she ignored her again. "And who better than an old school friend?"

"We aren't friends, Granger. We've never been friends."

"No, not even close," she whispered. She steadied herself, leaned into him and caught his lips lightly in a kiss. She fought the urge to vomit.

That was all it took for Draco. That one little kiss and his protests were over. He had to have her, had to get her upstairs as soon as possible.

"Can we apparate up there?" he asked her huskily.

"I think we can manage the stairs," she said, smirking at him. "Don't be overeager. It's ill-suited to a Malfoy."

_So are mudbloods_, he thought ruefully. He doubted his father would blame him, though. Not even Lucius himself would be able to resist Granger in this state. Without another word, he rose from the table, not caring any more if she could see his excitement. He held out his hand and she took it, inwardly cringing at its hot, sweaty feel. She walked him back through the bar and up a rickety set of stairs, pausing to smile victoriously at the girl in the mirror. Once in their room, she allowed Malfoy to push her roughly against the wall and devour her lips with his own. His touch was so unlike Ron's: controlling, greedy and a little angry.

_Don't think. It's worth it. It's all worth it._

"God, I've wanted you for a long time," Draco murmured into her ear, not caring that he was giving himself away. All he could think was how good Granger felt against him and how alive she was making him feel. His wife, beautiful and willing though she was, had never felt like this.

"I know," she breathed back. "I could always tell. You played a good game, but I always knew."

Draco pushed her back onto the too-soft bed, hurriedly pulling her clothes off as they went. She played her part well, keeping her lips on his as she pushed his pants down to his ankles and allowed him to shove her legs apart.

_Don't think. Don't think. Pretend it's Ron. It's Ron, just Ron, and it's all worth it, all – _

Her thoughts were shoved aside as Hermione (_the girl, it's just the girl!)_screamed inside of her, the shock of feeling Malfoy inside of them more horrible than the cruciatus curse could ever be. With effort Jean kept the tears from her eyes and tried to move with Malfoy as the girl railed and sobbed within her. It was difficult to keep control, but she held on, even as her own fear and disgust were threatening to overtake her.

_Just a little longer. Hold out a little longer, he'll be finished soon._

Draco was intoxicated with power. After all of these years, _this_ is what Hermione Granger felt like beneath him. It brought back powerful, horrible memories, and he didn't bother to push them away. _I wish Potter and Weasley could see us now. I wish _everyone_ could see their perfect little mudblood. God, I always knew she was a slut, I always knew she'd be good._ He pushed her arms above her head, holding her tight beneath him, barely remembering that she'd brought _him_ here, that it was consensual. _Such a little slut, I knew it, I knew it! _With a brutal thrust, he finished, pulling her in for a crushing kiss, and then held her close listening to their heartbeats. After a moment, he pulled away and out of her. He got up from the bed, searching for his clothes in silence. She hadn't moved.

_Maybe I was too much for her, _he thought_. After Weasley, I must have felt like a fucking train. Too bad, girlie, you asked for it._ These were not Draco's normal thoughts, not the way he now acted or responded, but something seemed to have been released within him.

Jean didn't move, afraid that if she looked at him she would start screaming and never stop. She could still feel him on her, in her. _It's over. You made it. And it was worth it, do you hear her, it was all worth it._ She listened to the girl's quiet sobs and finally tried to sit up.

"Not bad, Granger," Draco drawled. "Weasley's got himself quite a nice deal, doesn't he?" He looked at her, and her naked, used body stirred his lust again.

"Greengrass, too," she managed, trying to keep her voice normal.

"That's Mrs. Malfoy to you. Care for seconds? I'm not completely dressed yet." Without waiting for an answer, he threw himself on her again, tearing into her with even more enthusiasm. He ignored her feeble protests, silencing her with another bruising kiss, and after a moment, she responded. _She likes it rough, the little slut. _He had no idea where these long-dormant thoughts were coming from, would never have thought it possible that he would be back in that place again. But the feel of her skin made him forget everything else, and he buried his hands in that crazy, glorious hair.

_God, make him stop, make him stop, make him stop! _The girl screamed at Jean, but she ignored her again. This time, she tried to lose herself in Malfoy's embrace, tried to feel some pleasure in the act. It was easier this time. The worst was over.

_It's all worth it, it's all worth it, it's all –_

X X X X

Afterward, when he was gone, Jean sat in front of the mirror, looking at the girl. She was still crying, but Jean's eyes were dry and determined. She was sore from Malfoy's rough hands and needed to cover a few bruises, but otherwise she was physically undamaged. She didn't speak to the girl – what was there to say? – but her eyes conveyed what she felt: triumphant. It had been horrible to sleep with the boy, but hadn't it been wonderful, too? Wasn't her plan coming to fruition? She tried to block out the thought that kept surfacing (_you've just raped the girl_), because it wasn't helpful. That thought didn't sit well with her, didn't jive with her strategies and ideas. Another fragment tried to rise in her brain (_and aren't you just _her_, anyway?_), but she pushed that back, too. This was _her_ life now, not the girl's, and when she gave it back, she wanted it sufficiently damaged. Fair is fair, right? So the girl had to sleep with Draco Malfoy, so what? Jean had suffered worse, far worse.

"Isn't that right, Hermione?" she finally spoke. She hated saying that name almost as much as she'd hated saying Draco. "It's your turn to get a little taste of what agony feels like. You couldn't get out of this time, could you? Did he hurt you, crybaby? Did the big bad Death Eater hurt you? Too bad, Princess. Get ready for more, far more."

The words felt slightly false, no matter how much she wanted to sound tough and in control. She wanted nothing more than to rush to the shower and wash him off of her, but she wouldn't give the girl the satisfaction. She could not appear weak.

"You're lucky it wasn't Harry," she spoke hatefully to the broken girl in the mirror. "How would that have felt, hmm? Or maybe George? Neville? I bet Percy would have had a go." She laughed at the girl's shocked expression; in truth, she knew she would never have been able to seduce those men. Nor did she wish to hurt them; that was just for the girl. And Malfoy, too, of course. Too bad that bitch Lestrange was dead, or her revenge would be complete. _Oh well. I could leave some dungbombs on her grave, I guess._

She spared the girl one scornful last look, then apparated home. Ron was asleep, as she knew he would be. She finally gave in the need to shower, and then crawled into bed. Sleep was a long time coming.

X X X X

After he returned home, Draco sat in his study for a long time, holding the note Granger had sent earlier in the day. It was close to four a.m. and he hoped Story hadn't missed him. The last thing he needed was a pissed off pureblood after him; although only twenty-two, when she was sufficiently angry Story had the temper of a hundred year old dragon. _Should have slipped her a sleeping draught at dinner_, he thought, and then realized Granger must have completely scrambled his brains. Who drugged their wife to carry on with mudbloods? _You're losing it, Draco_.

Now that he was home, Draco began to feel uncomfortable with the events of the night. He squirmed uneasily when he thought of how fervently he had held and kissed Granger, and how having her had awakened a part of him he thought gone. _You were just swept up in the moment. She caught you off guard, that's all. And now she's out of your system._ Even as he told himself these things, he knew they were lies. If she summoned him again, he would go to her. Hopefully, he could keep himself from contacting her, could keep his mind closed from his wife and father. That would be difficult, he knew.

He and Story had been married for almost two years, and he loved her. She was sweet, pretty and funny and head over heels in love with him. Not brilliant, maybe, but a capable witch. Although eager to please, she never lost sight of herself, and Draco had felt her wrath enough times that he now knew not to underestimate her. There was little doubt that if she ever found out about Granger, she would curse both of them in ways Draco couldn't even comprehend. When he married her, he'd had every intention of keeping his marriage vows – infidelity had no place in a marriage, and she was more than enough for him. But he hadn't counted on Granger. With little more than a wiggle of her finger, Granger had made him betray his wife and his self.

_That little slut. I bet she tricked me; she probably used some sort of potion. Wait until I get my hands on her again – _Draco pushed those thoughts away again. What in the hell was wrong with him? It seemed he was channeling his fifteen-year-old self, and he didn't like it. He was bad person back then and he had worked hard to overcome his upbringing and his own inclinations. Obviously, Granger was a link to his past, one that should be severed. It was best to think of Granger as an aberration, as a gift to his former life, and then to not think of her again. _Right. Good luck with that._


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: None of these fabulous characters belong to me.**

Two more weeks passed before Jean contacted Malfoy again. In truth, it had taken her about that long to recover; when she closed her eyes at night she often saw him above her. In the days since her tryst, she had almost convinced herself that it wasn't that bad, that she could sleep with Malfoy and be unaffected. It wasn't like _she_ would have to deal with the consequences, after all. Still, she couldn't forget his hungry eyes and grasping hands.

For the most part, though, she was back in her Hermione-routine, and happy. When she was with Ron, Malfoy and the girl both slid to the back of her mind. Her love for him was the one thing keeping her from completely losing control. She still sometimes wished she could just stay forever, but there was too much danger that the girl might slip back through and trap her again. It was important to carry on as planned, no matter how much it sickened her. The only thing that really mattered was that it sickened the girl, too. Ron had no inkling of her night with Malfoy; as much as she loved him, she was equally grateful for his occasional lapses into complete oblivion. It paid to have a husband whose mind was frequently pre-occupied with new spells and "one hundred different ways to antagonize your professor." It made everything a little easier.

She smiled fondly at the thought of Ron as she reread her note to Malfoy: **Same time, same place? **Jean borrowed an owl to send the letter; it wouldn't do to let Pigwidgeon in on her treachery. The little owl was far too excitable and goofy, not to mention well-known. If Pig was spotted delivering to Malfoy, it was sure to cause unwelcome questions.

She received her answer in less than an hour: **You bet.** She gagged as she thought of him hurriedly scribbling his reply, weak with wanting her. Ron, Harry and George were "camping" (read: drinking themselves silly) and she had begged off a girl's night out with Ginny with complaints of a headache. She was free for as long as Malfoy wanted her. She had her clothes picked out: tight muggle jeans and a low-cut blouse. She knew that dressing like a muggle gave Malfoy a greater sense of superiority, and it would fuel his fire. She kept her hair as wild as possible and used heavy liner to emphasize her eyes. Malfoy thought of her as a slut; all she had to do was dress and act the part and he would be putty in her hands.

_You're not going to do it again, are you?_ a voice dull with defeat asked.

"Sure am," she answered in a far more cheerful voice than she felt. She didn't really like speaking directly to the girl that much, but she was willing to make an exception if it meant she got to gloat. "And I think when I'm finished with this one I'll move on to Malfoy, Sr., what do you think of that?"

_You wouldn't._

"Wait and see, girlie, just wait and see. Don't worry, it won't be forever. Just until I decide to let Ron catch us in the act. Then you can come back and explain. Isn't that what you want, to come back?"

_You're evil_.

"Well, you made me, so what does that say about you, hmm?" she snapped.

_This will destroy Ron. Harry too. Is that what _you_ want_?

"Every war has its casualties," she said again. "Now shut up. We've got places to go, purebloods to do. Don't want to keep the boy waiting, do we?"

X X X X

When he had received Granger's owl, Draco had nearly shouted in triumph and excitement. He'd been antsy that she'd taken so long, downright furious that she was making him wait. He kept himself from owling her; he must not appear desperate. In truth, he _was_ desperate. He had dreamed about Granger every night since they had been together, and had awoken his wife on more than one occasion still feeling the effects of his dreams. Luckily, Story was going out that night, although he would need to come back before she did. He hoped it would give him enough time. He wanted as much of Granger as he could get. He apparated to the alley behind the bar and practically sprinted inside. This time, Draco didn't want to waste time chatting downstairs; he wanted to be inside the room and inside Granger as soon as possible. He stood at the bottom of the stairs to wait for her so she would see his intentions; he thought he saw a spark of unguarded dismay when she spotted him before he whisked her back into the small, dismal room.

"Couldn't wait," he mumbled between kisses. "I've got to get back earlier tonight."

"Shame," she managed. It felt like Malfoy was going to devour her. "I've got the whole night."

"Got rid of Weasley, did you? Naughty girl. I guess maybe I can squeeze a little extra time out for us then."

He made her get on top this time so he could see the rise and fall of her breasts; Jane thought this was infinitely worse than the last time. Last time she could almost pretend it wasn't her doing those things, or that it was just Ron or – anything else, really. But there was no pretending like this, and there was no way to deny the pleasure that shot through her. It disgusted her; and she knew it upset the girl, too, and when she climaxed, she heard not her own breathy release, but more cries and protests.

Draco noticed nothing; he was filled once more with a sense of control and triumph. He crowed inwardly, thinking what Crabbe and Goyle would think before he remembered his childhood friend was dead; he seemed to be slipping back again to his Hogwarts persona. He rolled Granger under him, pounding more fiercely into her than ever.

"Ow – Malfoy –you're-"

"Shut up," he barked. He considered putting his hand over her mouth but contained himself. "This is what you came here for, Granger."

_She was walking down the hall in that little skirt, her stupid hair sticking out all over the place. She was carrying five books, struggling a little under their weight. He could see her wand tucked in her pocket and knew she'd never be able to get it in time, not with all of those books. _See what being a know-it-all gets you, Granger? _He had studied her schedule for weeks, and knew Potty and Weasel would not be expecting her any time soon. Oh yes, they had plenty of time._

"_Expelliamus," he hissed at her, and grinned as her wand sailed into his hand and her books flew everywhere. "Nox." The lights went out, but he had his Hand of Glory, and she was staring wildly about her in the dark. He had her against the wall before she could utter a sound. "Silencio." She was struggling against him, but he was too strong._

"_Your sidekicks aren't here now, you mudblood bitch. It's just the two of us." Draco saw her eyes widen in horror as she mouthed _Malfoy! _and he pushed her harder against the wall, shoving her legs apart and relishing her frantic struggles._

"_Just you and me…"_

Draco came with a roar as his old daydream came flooding back to him. Whether by some trick of Occlumency, or a bizarre melding of minds, Hermione, trapped inside Jean, witnessed the fantasy at the same time; what was more, she experienced it along with him. She felt the same terror Malfoy's dream-Hermione did, felt the rough wall behind her back and saw nothing but blackness. Hermione was horrified. _This is what he thought of me? This is what he wanted? God, he was sicker than we ever knew._ She prayed Jean had seen it, too, prayed that she would end this madness. If left unchecked, Malfoy was likely to kill her. Kill both of them.

"I thought I told you eagerness was unbecoming to you," Jean said. If last time she had been unable to move from emotional stress, this time it was pure physical pain. She thought maybe he had even bitten her.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," Draco said, suddenly feeling a little contrite. Now that it was over, he was not nearly as enamored of his daydream as he'd been a moment ago.

"Well, you did. I do have to be able to walk, you know. And I think you left some marks."

"Sorry," he said again, his patience waning a bit as he looked at her. What was she bellyaching about? It wasn't like she didn't have the practice. He realized again that she was causing his mind to whipsaw crazily; one moment he was feeling remorse and the next he wanted to hurt her again. "Just tell Weasley your ugly old cat bit you."

"Funny. I know I'm irresistible, Malfoy, but don't be so rough, okay?" Jean was proud of how calm her voice was; in reality she wanted to scream and hit him. He'd really hurt her. It was humiliating to let him use her like that, to let him think that she was indeed the mudblood slut he'd always suspected. She knew it was necessary, knew all of this was necessary, but it didn't make it any easier. Also, the girl was silent for the moment, which scared her a little. She should be outraged, and yet she hadn't made a peep since Jean and Malfoy had changed positions. _What are you up to in there, you bitch?_ Silence.

"You said you had the whole night," Malfoy said, snapping her out of her reverie. "What do you have planned to keep my interest? Cause I can think of a few things."

"I'm sure you can," she said ruefully. "First, I want you to heal the bruises you left."

"I'm not Madam Pomfrey, Granger," he retorted. "Heal your own damn bruises."

"You want me fresh, don't you Malfoy?" she said sweetly. "You don't want me damaged; you want to get your money's worth."

He growled low in his throat; she really knew how to push his buttons. He took out his wand and quickly healed her, staring transfixed at the milky, unblemished skin that appeared before him. She really was beautiful.

"Thank you," she said primly. "Now use your manners and kiss me nicely."

He complied.

"If you hurt me like that again, we're through, do you understand?"

He nodded.

"Now tell me what you want."

Draco continued to look at her, another long-lost image filling his mind. His fantasies about her hadn't always been violent. He could play nice for awhile. His version of nice, anyway.

"Get down on your knees."

X X X X

This time Jean did not care what the girl thought. As soon as Malfoy was gone she ran into the bathroom and emptied her stomach into the stained, cracked toilet. She lay on the bathroom floor for a long time, staring at nothing and waiting for the girl to speak. When she did, it was with that same sad, defeated voice.

_Are you satisfied?_

"Not even close. I don't care what I have to do or who I hurt."

_I don't believe you. This is killing you. _

"Just as long as you go first, my dear."

_You didn't see it, did you? What he was thinking about us?_

"No, but I'm sure it was disgusting."

_We were back at Hogwarts. He disarmed me, was going to rape me_.

"He's a real charmer, that one. What do you expect from Malfoy, why do you think I picked him? I suppose it's a good thing he didn't do it, isn't it? You might have brought me out a bit sooner. I'm glad I was spared that indignity."

_You're not my fault! I didn't mean to make you, I didn't mean to let you suf-_

"Bullshit. You knew exactly what you were doing. You were hurting, so you called on me. Only you couldn't quite get rid of me, could you, and now look where it's gotten us. This is your fault, Princess. No one else's."

_Can't you forgive me? _

"Not in this life or the next. You owe me, girl. I'm collecting. I don't care what happens to me now. I don't care about Malfoy or Ron or anyone else. My only mission is to hurt you."

_You've succeeded. You can go back now._

"Nice try. I'll let you know when it's time to go back. If you talk to me again right now, I'll call him back. You want that?"

The girl didn't answer.

"Good girl."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: All belongs to the brilliant JKR**.

"Draco? Honey, are you working late again?" Astoria Malfoy asked her husband, already resigned to his answer. There'd been quite a few late nights in the last few weeks, quite a few unexpected business meetings. Draco said that he and his father were working with American wizards to buy the rights to an overseas corporation, but as usual, he was vague with the details. He had promised to make it up to her with a vacation to the States, but could not say when his work would let up, and Story was beginning to get worried. When she had mentioned his new habits to her best friend, Alexa Nott, her reply had been brief: "He's having an affair. Sorry, dear!" Story had felt the satisfaction mixed in with her friend's sympathy, had known that the vultures she called friends would like nothing more than for her to be as miserable as they were. But she _wasn't _miserable; she loved her husband and she trusted him. Story was not a stupid woman, but if Draco said he was working, then he was working. If anything, Alexa's theory made Story want to trust her husband all the more.

"Yes, sweetie, 'fraid it's another long night," Draco said, whistling and straightening a green striped tie. Draco told her that the American wizards often dressed like muggles, so he had asked her to buy him a few expensive suits for his dealings with them. She had made sure that every accent was green or silver, and she had to admit he looked handsome in muggle clothes. Of course, Draco would look handsome in a house-elf uniform. His pale, pointed features were aristocratic, his body trim and muscular from years of Quidditch. In short, her Draco was yum and Story still had to pinch herself to believe she had landed such a man. Even after the war, the Malfoys were a powerful family, especially among former Slytherins. She remembered the enormous crush she had on him at school, and the pang she had always felt when she saw him with that puggy cow, Pansy Parkinson. Alexa, Pansy's sister-in-law, filled Story's head with tales of her horrendousness, and Story was doubly glad Draco had been spared Theo's fate.

"When do you think this deal will be done?" she asked tentatively.

"Hard to say. Americans like to draw things out. Savages, the whole lot of them. I mean, look at this suit! They are way more entrenched with muggles than we are. Thank God we live in England, I always say." In truth, Draco wore his suits to blend in at the Witch's Brew, although usually he and Granger weren't downstairs long enough for it to matter. So far, that was the only place they had met, and although he spent many nights away from his wife, he had been with Granger only four more times. Sometimes he stood outside the bar, willing her to join him. Once or twice he had gone to her house, looking up at her windows and wondering if she was fucking the Weasel. Other nights he merely walked around, trying to clear his head from the witch that was slowly driving him insane. _At least I'm really seeing her tonight. And she's going to put in a little extra for keeping me waiting again._

"Yes, well as long as I still get my trip to Manhattan, they can be as savage and muggle-loving as they want," she replied, trying to keep her voice light. Although it was not good practice to show a large affinity for witches and wizards over muggles these days, old habits die hard. In the Malfoys' social circle, magic was still might, no matter how nice they had to play with others. Story didn't really care one way or the other. She did not know any muggles, nor did really she wish to, but on the other hand, she certainly didn't hate them, either.

"Of course, sweetie," he said, turning to give his wife a quick kiss. "I promise we'll stay at least a week. You'll be able to wow everyone with the latest in robes. We can even ask Alexa and that new boy she's seeing, if you want. Who is it again?"

"Goldstein, honey, Anthony, remember him from Hogwarts? He was in your year, a prefect with you."

"Oh, of course," Draco pulled the Ravenclaw boy to the front of his mind. "I think he was part of that Dumbledore's Army thing. Funny Alexa should see him as suitable."

"Well, D.A. members are proud, aren't they? They're held in rather high esteem in this day and age. Plus he's a pureblood."

"Yeah, I guess so," Draco said, frowning. _Why weren't the Inquisitorial Squad members famous, huh? We were just doing what we were told by the ministry and that cow Umbridge! Stupid Potter. _"Anyway, do you want them to come with us?"

"No," Story said firmly. "You've been away too much lately. I want you to myself for a change. And in case you've forgotten, we're supposed to have dinner with your parents tomorrow night. And your mother and I will not wish to be bored, so you and your father need to keep the shop talk to a minimum, agreed?"

"Of course, dear, as long as you and Mother refrain from discussing the rising prices at Madam Malkins." He made a mental note to remind his father of his American cover story. Lucius may not be privy to all of Draco's personal business, but he was a good alibi. His father would never give him away.

"Agreed," she said, grabbing him by his tie and pulling him down for a kiss. "I'm going to dinner with Alexa tonight, since you'll be out. Send me an owl or something when you're getting ready to come home, and we can go have a drink."

"It'll probably be too late, sweetie. But we'll see." Draco pulled her into another kiss, feeling a rush of affection for her. He honestly hoped that he'd be over his Granger obsession soon so he could go back to devoting himself to his wife. She didn't deserve this kind of treatment, but he just couldn't make himself stop.

XXXX

It was over quickly that night. Afterward, Draco said nothing but "I've got to get home," and left Jean lying on the bed. She was grateful for his absence - she always was - but she could tell that something had been different. Malfoy hadn't been rough, hadn't been crude. He had been, for him, downright gentlemanly. It wasn't like their usual encounters, and Jean was unnerved.

_You've turned a corner_, the girl said in a toneless voice. _I don't think he called us a slut once. He must be in love._

"Shut up," Jean replied absently. "Are you actually complaining that he was nice for a change?"

_I don't complain anymore, Jean. There's no point. Just making an observation._

It was true; the girl rarely said much these days. She sometimes cried, she sometimes whimpered in pain, but mostly, she was quiet. Jean still tried to goad her; once she had started talking to the girl, she found it almost impossible to stop, but Hermione (_THE GIRL!_) didn't seem to have a lot to say. Her silence wasn't very fun, Jean thought. Yes, her goal was to hurt the girl. But what good was that, if the girl wouldn't fight back?

"Well, I think you should be grateful," remarked Jean. "Malfoy is usually disgusting; didn't you enjoy the reprieve? You're never happy, are you?"

The girl didn't speak again. In truth, Malfoy's tenderness _had_ thrown Jean. Usually his passion was fierce and somewhat dangerous. Jean was sure that she had seen Malfoy a few times outside her house and knew his obsession for her was growing, which was precisely why his behavior tonight was so odd. He usually acted like Hogwarts Malfoy times ten: ordering her around, requesting despicable things and generally grossing her out with his perverse behavior. Once or twice she had refused his suggestions; even she had her limits, despite being tempted for the girl's sake.

Tonight, though, had been different. He had kissed her almost shyly, and had lavished her body with tender caresses. He spoke little, but everything he said was pretty and passionate. Jean had forgotten who - what - he was for the moment. When they were finished, he seemed as unnerved as she was, which was perhaps the reason for his hasty departure.

_Don't start second-guessing yourself now, Jeannie-girl_, she told herself. _Him either. He's a scumbag, and you have the (healed) marks to prove it. One nice night does not a nice man make. He was probably just thinking about new and exciting ways to torture us next time._

It was good advice. Usually Malfoy was an animal, so to think he had made a complete turnaround was naive. Besides, she didn't need him sweet to complete her plan. It worked better if he was a bastard.

X X X X

Draco was finished early enough to owl his wife, suggesting that they meet at the Slaughtered Lamb. Draco's guilt about Granger was greater than it usually was, and he wanted to spend some extra time with Story. They joked, flirted and kissed over their drinks; it was very reminiscent of their early dates, and his behavior towards her was sincere. Thoughts of Granger were out of his mind for the moment. Draco was struck again by how pretty his wife was, and it was clear she was feeling especially inclined towards him as well that evening.

"How was dinner with the harpie?" Draco asked. He tolerated Alexa, but the woman was a gossip, plain and simple. She could do more damage with a single barbed remark than Rita Skeeter and her quick-quotes quill. Story set too much by her and was more influenced by the girl than Draco liked. He had been friends with Theodore Nott at Hogwarts, and had been fond of Alexa in a big-brother fashion, but since Theo's marriage to Pansy (and thank God he dodged _that_ bullet), he saw him rarely. Alexa gave him updates on the pair, whether he wanted them or not, and Draco thanked Merlin that so far he had not been on the receiving end of Alexa's scorn.

"She's good," Story answered, ignoring the slight. Story had avoided mentioning Draco's late nights again to her friend - she did not want to cause more chatter and mischief from Alexa's side. Instead, she bombarded her friend with questions about Anthony Goldstein, even though Alexa had already discussed him so much Story felt confidant that she could write his autobiography. Alexa liked to talk about herself even more than she liked to talk about others, so she had happily spent the evening describing her beau in excruciating (for Story) detail. "She thinks Anthony's going to propose soon. If he does, you can expect Weasley and Potter at the wedding, so make sure you start preparing yourself now."

The mention of Weasley shot another bullet of guilt through him, but Draco maintained his composure. "Joy," he said sarcastically. "Just what we need, an evening with the saviors of the wizarding world. No doubt they'll get a standing ovation."

"You know," started Story, remembering suddenly. "I saw Weasley's wife - Granger, you know - out the other day and she gave me a rather nasty look. Isn't she supposed to be some kind of champion of underdogs? That means purebloods now. I really didn't appreciate it, since I don't even know the girl. I mean, I've not spoken to that frizzy-haired fright my entire life. Must be guilt by association, honey." Story said the last part lightly. She had been irritated at the time of the encounter, but now thought it rather funny that Granger still thought about such Hogwarts nonsense. Didn't she have better things to do than glare at perfect strangers? She looked at Draco, expecting him to join in the joke, but stopped at the expression on his face. Evidently, her husband did _not_ find it funny.

"That mudb-!"

"Draco!" Story exclaimed, shocked. It was not smart to use that word in public, and in actuality, Story had never heard her husband say it in private, either, at least since the war. He was apparently harboring some old Hogwarts nonsense, too.

"That little bitch," Draco fumed. How dare she approach - or even look at - his wife? What the hell was she doing? Did she _want_ people to find out what a debased little slut she was? "She always thinks she's better than everyone else, always has to be a perfect little princess."

"Draco, it was nothing," Story said, a little alarmed. "She just looked at me funny, maybe I even imagined it. It's nothing to get worked up about."

"No, it's not alright," he snapped. "Granger has been acting superior since we were eleven years old. You should have seen her at Hogwarts - such a little know-it-all. God, I hated her."

"I did see her, Draco, I went to school with you, remember?"

"And yeah," he continued, "she and Potter and Weasley were the big heroes during the war. So once again she's top shit in town."

"Draco -"

"But she's not so perfect. If her friends knew -"

"Knew what?" Story asked, suddenly stock still, her stomach plummeting. _Something _was making her husband act this way, a way she hadn't witnessed since her early years at school. She had admired him then, for all his bullying bigotry, because she was, after all, a Slytherin pureblood. That was simply the way they were. But he had changed since the war, they all had, and Story liked them all - herself included - a lot better now. She didn't want to go back.

"Nothing," he said quickly. _Calm down, Draco, you want to give yourself away? Still - that bitch! _"She just makes me mad."

"I gathered," Story said, trying to take him at face value.

"Sorry, sweetie," he said, sounding more like himself. "I guess it's obvious there's no love lost between me and Granger. I'm just sorry she took it out on you."

"Honestly, honey, I could have been imagining things," Story said, though she was sure she had not misinterpreted the anger in Granger's face. "Besides, didn't she help save your life? She can't be all bad."

"That was more Potter and Weasley," he bit out. Of all things, he didn't need to be reminded of his life debt. _Damn that little slut._

"Well, let's change the subject," she said. "Let's talk instead of how gorgeous I look tonight."

Draco smiled mechanically and told his wife she looked gorgeous. But the only thing he could see was red rage and brown curly hair.

X X X X

"I'll thank you to stay the fuck away from my wife, you little whore," Malfoy snarled in a low, dangerous voice. He had her pinned against the wall, fingers gripping painfully into her arms. Jean tried to look defiant, but she was scared. She didn't know what the hell she had done to make him angry, but it was clear he was barely refraining from seriously hurting her. He had owled her mere hours after their tryst: **Get here. Now**. _God, what is it _this_ time?_ she had thought wearily. _No doubt he wants to make up for his earlier niceties. Well, I'm saying no for a change. _But of course she had gone. How could she not?

As soon as she had entered their room, he slammed her against the wall, her head cracking hard against the peeling wallpaper. _His wife? What?_

"Malfoy, let go," she gasped in pain. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't even know your wife. Let go!"

He slammed her again, harder. Jean saw stars and feared she would pass out.

"Don't lie to me. I know you saw her."

"Saw her?" Jean could barely speak, the pain in her head was so great. "How can I avoid seeing someone?"

"Don't get cute," he growled, stepping back and pushing her onto the bed. She fell in a heap, tried to get up and failed. "She said you gave her a nasty look. What the hell are you trying to do? I'll kill you before I let you near my wife again."

Vaguely Jean remembered seeing Astoria Malfoy at the Ministry of Magic recently. She probably did glare at the woman - what kind of stupid bitch marries Draco Malfoy? - but she had certainly not spoken to the witch, or done anything to deserve such treatment. _Well, think about who you're dealing with, Jeanie. Not exactly a full deck, huh?_

"I saw her at work, Malfoy," she managed. "That's all. I didn't even talk to her. I'm sorry I can't hide under a rock every time your precious wife leaves the house."

He leaned over her on the bed and slapped her hard across the face. "Watch your fucking mouth, mudblood," he said, speaking the word to her face for the first time since Hogwarts. He noticed a strange look come into her eyes - it was almost satisfaction. He slapped her again.

"Knew that would come out sooner or later," she sneered. She raised a hand to her mouth; it was bleeding slightly. "Same old Malfoy, isn't that right? I didn't do anything to your wife. She's your problem, not mine. But unless you want me to curse you in ways you've never imagined, you will leave this room right now. If I decide to forgive you, I'll let you know. Now get out."

He left without another word. As soon as he was away from the room, away from her, he felt sickened by what he had done. He had hurt her bad; she might even have a concussion. And why? Because she looked at Story? Was he that far gone?

"You're losing it, Draco. You're one step from St. Mungo's unless you _get it together_." But as usual, the words sounded false, even to him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Granger and Malfoy belong to JKR.**

Hermione got a little free time when Jean slept_. She _couldn't sleep; the lingering effects of crucio made it difficult, and thoughts of Malfoy made it impossible. She wondered if sleep deprivation was one of the things that had driven Jean mad. She tried not to dwell on that particular thought, though, since it just went back to her own madness. _Aren't we the same? She's me, right? _But no, Hermione didn't want to believe that._ There's no way I could do these things to myself. Why would I? It's Jean, all Jean. She's out of control._

Hermione tried not to hate Jean, but she was losing that battle day by day. The other girl's vindictiveness and spite reached Slytherin levels; Hermione couldn't fathom how anyone could hold that much bile inside herself. When she first took over, Jean ignored Hermione's protests, preferring to act as if the other girl didn't exist, save for the occasional smirk. Now Jean tried to bait her at every step, and Hermione was the one that was learning to be silent. She mocked Hermione endlessly and spoke often of the mess she was making of her life. She had threatened to add Lucius Malfoy to her repertoire more than once, but Hermione did not think she quite dared. She had her hands full with Malfoy Jr., after all. Hermione wasn't sure what Jean's new talkativeness meant, but she was hoping to use it to her advantage. Hermione thought that it pissed Jean off when Hermione ignored her, even though most of her comments needed no response. Sometimes, Hermione could swear the girl was lonely and just wanted to talk to someone who knew who she was. Hermione knew that part of Jean wanted to announce herself, wanted to let people know who she was. She was sick of playing the Hermione-role. She wanted to be _Jean_. _Too bad_, Hermione thought. _It's my life you've stolen. You've got to deal with it now._

Yes, it was easy to despise Jean. However much Hermione hated her, though, she hated herself that much more. It was Hermione's own fault Jean had gotten control in the first place, her own fault the girl even existed. It was strange. When Hermione thought back to her torture at the hands of Bellatrix, she could remember everything, including the pain. She remembered feeling helpless and exposed, feeling more terrified than she ever had in her life. While she was writhing in agony she tried to keep her mind on Ron and Harry, tried to will them to go on without her if necessary. When they rescued her, she felt as if she had been reborn. But were those just Jean's memories? How much did the two girls share, where did one stop and the other begin? It was clear that Jean had never left that time, never recovered. When Hermione had been saved, Jean was left in torment, and she wasn't about to forgive and forget. And though Hermione _could_ clearly remember her torment, if she was honest with herself, she could remember Jean coming, too. Her hatred of the other girl was tempered by guilt and sympathy. It was her fault they were in this mess. And maybe Bellatrix Lestange's.

And who was Jean, exactly? How much of Hermione was Jean, and how much of Jean was Hermione? Jean seemed to know everything about her (_that's because she_ is _you!!_) but Hermione couldn't get a complete handle on her other self. She knew Jean was motivated by revenge and hatred, but she still didn't really understand what Jean hoped to accomplish with their degradation. Hermione felt every kiss, every - caress? was that the right word? - from Malfoy; she tried to numb herself but she still felt everything. She knew Jean hated it as much as she did, but Hermione was afraid that Jean was beginning to want it, too. Jean was sleeping with Malfoy to hurt Hermione, yes, but Hermione thought there was more to it than that. What else was she getting from their encounters? Hermione didn't think Jean cared for Malfoy. Her love for Ron made it impossible for Jean to love anyone else. Maybe Jean wanted to hurt more than just Hermione; maybe she wanted to hurt herself as well. Sleeping with Malfoy was causing Jean to go even further off the edge of sanity. It was clear that despite all her talk, Jean's hatred was directed toward herself, too. Apparently, Malfoy fulfilled some need she had to humiliate and hurt herself. _Well, duh, Hermione. Great deductive work. She's you, after all, isn't she? _

But that line of reasoning wasn't helpful. Better to blame everything on Jean. Hermione didn't speak to her much anymore - there was really no point, and it tired her out. Instead, she worked on getting free, on putting Jean back where she belonged. Her mind was her own while Jean slept, what little of it she had left, anyway. She could plan. She could plot. And when she got back in control, Jean was going to wish she were dead. _Calm down, Hermione. That's Jean talk, that's not you._ _(Isn't it?)_

It had hurt to see Ron with the nasty interloper at first. Couldn't he tell the difference? Couldn't anyone? But she was over that stage; it did no good to dwell. Jean was good; she had inside knowledge, after all. Sometimes Hermione thought she saw a glimmer of question in her husband's eyes, but it was possible she was just imagining that, just grasping at straws. She was pretty sure that Jean could stay forever, and no one would be the wiser. It was that thought, more than any other that was pushing Hermione towards a breakdown. If this pretender could steal her life, then what kind of life did she really have? Jean might have Hermione's memories, but she didn't have the same thoughts and feelings, not completely. She certainly didn't have Hermione's capacity for love. Hermione knew that Jean loved Ron and felt affection for her friends, but not enough to keep from hurting them. Her desire to destroy Hermione outweighed everything else. When Ron found out about Malfoy, he was likely to kill everyone in a twenty-mile radius. Quite simply, it would destroy him, and probably Harry as well. It would taint their years of friendship, change every single memory the three of them shared. (_Then why are you doing it?) _She doubted whether any of them would recover.

So what could she do to stop her? She couldn't kill Malfoy, as satisfying as it might be. Hermione was already half-convinced he would beat her to the punch anyway. At least then she'd be free. She knew that even after he beat her the other night, Jean was still going to contact him again. If anything, it reinforced her plan. It proved that Malfoy was a monster, and that he was the only one who could bring about Hermione's (_my_) comeuppance. Hermione thought that each encounter they shared pushed Malfoy closer to a madness of his own. In the years since Voldemort's fall, she had seen him very little, but she had thought he changed. She'd certainly heard it enough times - "Oh, young Malfoy, what a turn he's taken. The Malfoys are really cleaning up their name. Did you see Draco Malfoy and his new wife? Such a nice young couple." When they saw each other out, they always nodded politely, always exchanged courteous, if clipped, pleasantries. Hermione had never seen that demon in his eye before, never seen a sign of hateful lust. She'd certainly never gotten that impression while they were in Hogwarts, and apparently it was all he thought about back then. Whatever changes Malfoy may or may not have made after Hogwarts, they went out the window the minute he was around Jean. He was worse now than he ever had been.

X X X X

Draco sat in his study, looking sightlessly at the roaring fire in front of him. Bit of a cliché, really - lord of the manor reclining in his leather armchair, surrounded by trophies and servants. Well, there was a house elf, anyway, one of Granger's "free" varieties. Not quite as obedient as Dobby, but not as annoying, either. He waved the elf out of the room - he really needed to be alone. Story was in bed; it was well past midnight. It had been three nights since he'd seen Granger, since he'd threatened and hit her. He had returned home in a daze, completely drained by his actions. Why had he gotten so mad? Just because she gave his wife a nasty look? He knew Story suspected nothing; never in a million years would she believe her husband capable of bedding Hermione Granger Weasley. He also knew that there was no way Granger would tell Story what was going on; her own reputation would be annihilated, not to mention her marriage and friendships. He knew that their secret was safe and that there had been _no reason_ for him to go off like that. Yet once again, he completely lost control. That was happening a lot lately.

He thought, not for the first time, that perhaps Granger was bewitching him. That had been his thought after their first time together, that maybe she had slipped something in his drink that night at the Witch's Brew. It wasn't completely out of the question. How else could his wild, violent mood swings be explained? What other reason could there be for his complete and total obsession with Granger? It wasn't natural and it wasn't healthy. His life had been orderly and as close to perfect as it was likely to get pre-Granger. Now, he felt like he was slowly going mad. _Not so slowly, maybe._

What could he do? Break things off? That would be the normal, responsible, sane thing to do. If he ended it now, he still had a chance to maintain his dignity and his mind. _Not to mention my soul. I'm on the fast track to hell. _He didn't want to end it, though. That was the hell of the thing. Draco had absolutely no desire to stop sleeping with Granger. _Hermione. Can't you call her Hermione? _No. That wouldn't do. It had to be Granger.

He thought if he couldn't completely end the affair, perhaps he could change it a bit. There was no reason to be so dark and perverted all the time. He could make it more...normal. Pleasant. Loving, even.

_"God, you're beautiful," he whispered. He wound his fingers through her hair, kissed her forehead. She looked at him, puzzled. He usually had ugly things to say to her, to do to her._

_"Malfoy? You're trembling."_

_"Draco. Say it. Say Draco."_

He shook his head of such thoughts, of the memories of their last time together, before he had attacked her in a violent rage. He had been soft, had kissed her everywhere and held her tight against him. She had felt amazing and he had come harder than ever. But that wasn't what their affair was supposed to be, was it? He loved his wife, not Granger, and he didn't want Granger getting the wrong idea. They were supposed to be dirty and fun. She was just an itch to scratch, wasn't she?

_They were in the potions room after class. He had locked the door and was standing against it while she backed away from him. He could tell she wasn't really afraid, not yet. She just _looked _at him, wearing that snotty expression she reserved just for him._

_"What's the matter, mudblood? Cat got your tongue?"_

_"What are you doing, Ferret? I've got class."_

_"I've got other plans for us."_

_"I'm not afraid of you, Malfoy. You can't hurt me." The tone of her voice was what really got him. She was just so_ sure_, sure she had the upper hand, sure she was safe in her little Gryffindor, mudblood world. Well, she was in for a rude fucking awakening._

_"I think it will hurt, mudblood. I think it'll hurt a_ lot.

Another old Hogwarts fantasy. That was what their relationship was supposed to be: Draco enacting all his wildest fantasies; Granger, for some reason, lapping it up. And what _was_ her reason, anyway? Boredom? Was she mad at Weasley for something? Vain though he was, Draco didn't really think she was motivated by mad lust for him. He knew she had never thought of him like that at Hogwarts; her utter disdain for him had always been evident. Draco thought that underneath her gasping and moaning, she still felt that same disgust and contempt. He knew she liked what he did to her; she couldn't hide that, yet most of the time she felt so distant from him. Was that what was keeping him interested? Did he really just want to affect her in some way, make her feel and care for him? What kind of sick scenario had they gotten themselves involved in? Could he ever make it back out?

X X X X

_I can hear you fussing around in there. Go to sleep. Or at least shut up and let me get some rest._

Hermione was startled out of her thoughts by Jean's intrusion. Jean didn't speak out loud; Ron was curled beside her and she was feigning sleep, but she sounded as loud as a scream to Hermione.

_Did you hear me?_

Hermione was silent. Jean was mad whether Hermione spoke or whether she ignored her, so what was the point? Better not to let her know anything was happening. Better just to shut up and play the cowed victim. Hermione didn't want to give anything away.

Jean curled closer to Ron. That girl was up to something.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Jean is mine. All the rest are JKR's.**

Malfoy wasn't playing by the rules. _She_ owled _him_, not the other way around. He was supposed to wait impatiently until she was ready for him. She was the one in charge, and after that stunt he pulled last time, she wanted to make him cool his heels for awhile. How would it look if she just jumped back in bed with him after he damn near knocked her out?

_How would it look to_ who_? I think you're past worrying what_ I_ think of things, Jean. Who are you worried about now?_

Stupid girl. Jean had gotten used to the girl's silent treatment lately, so why couldn't she shut up now? Jean didn't answer her - the girl just wanted to bait her. Let her try her make her snotty little comments, if it made her feel better about herself. It was all she could do, after all. Jean looked at the note in her hands. It had come with a pink rose and had arrived the second Ron left the house, as if the owl had been given strict instructions to avoid the redhead.

**I'm sorry. Meet me tonight?**

Maybe he truly was sorry. Who the hell ever knew what he was thinking, anyway, beyond _must-screw-granger-now? _Should she cave in and go to him tonight, or let him stew a little bit longer? After all, once she left, it was the girl who would have to clean up the mess. Wouldn't the scandal be even better if people knew the girl let Malfoy beat on her? Why not let Malfoy grovel for the evening? She inhaled the pale rose and held it against her cheek. As cliché as it was, she had always loved roses more than any other flower. They were just so perfect and always smelled like romance and moonlight to her. Jean suspected that if _she_ got a whiff of amortentia, she would smell roses, not cut grass. Roses and cedar and violence. That's what would attract her. She decided to meet him.

_Lovely. Forgive the wife beater because he apologizes and sends flowers. Real nice, Jeanie-girl. Let's not forget this is Malfoy we're dealing with. He'll probably want to do something gross with the flower._ Still, Jean had to admit that it charmed her a little. After he had slapped her and thrown her around, she'd laid on the bed and cried for some time. As much as she was her own person, Jean still had Hermione in her blood and it pained her to think that she would let a man beat on her like that. Even taking the girl out of the equation, was that the sort of woman _she_ wanted to be? A woman who would let anyone treat her like that, let alone someone she was intimate with? For a moment, Jean forgot the plan. What if she was just a normal woman having an affair with a normal man? Would she take that crap? After letting the girl rule her life for the last six years, after suffering at the hands of Lestrange, had she really come out to let Draco effing Malfoy slam her around and abuse her body? Was her plan really, really worth it? But then as Jean cried she thought she felt the girl stretching around a little. Getting a bit uppity, if you will. Quickly, Jean shut off the baby-crying and shoved the girl back down. It was worth it, it had to be. As long as the girl got what was coming to her.

Still, Jean was left wondering - what exactly _was_ her plan? It had been so clear at first, and now she was left feeling slightly lost and muddled. When she had escaped the girl's mind she had been elated and her revenge against the girl was at the front of her mind. Hurt her. Humiliate her. Break her. Jean supposed she could have stopped after one session with Malfoy; she could have arranged for Ron to find them during their very first tryst. That alone would have been enough to ruin the girl. Jean knew, though, that the girl _hated _what Jean was making them do with Malfoy. Once wasn't enough. It had to be again and again and again. She couldn't leave the girl any strength or she might get out again. Jean knew that the girl had been trying to plot against her. Right now, she was weak from pain and mentally exhausted from Malfoy, but any lull in her torment might give her the edge she needed. Jean _would not_ let the girl win, would _not _let her out undamaged. She'd simply have to suck it up and go to Malfoy tonight. She couldn't let the girl get too comfortable. Physical pain wasn't enough. Mental anguish was the way to really break someone. And it wasn't like she was really forgiving him, or being weak – it was just one more necessary step, right?

Jean had no trouble getting out that night - she and Ron were busy people and rarely questioned one another. She wore unalluring clothes; just because she was going to Malfoy didn't mean she needed to bow down to him completely. Let him see her in her ratty jeans and Ron's old Cannons sweatshirt. They'd probably excite him, the perv.

Jean nodded at the bartender, who gave her a rather presumptuous smirk.

"He's already up there," the bartender said. "He looked like he was in the doghouse. What's wrong - did he call you by his wife's name or something?"

Jean didn't answer, at least not with words. She did, however, send a nonverbal stinging hex to the jerk; she heard his curse of pain and surprise as she climbed the stairs. _Don't piss off a crazy witch, asshole. _She smiled to herself, thinking that if Malfoy gave her any shit, she could send a few hexes his way, too.

"Hey, Granger." He was sitting on the bed, wearing a contrite, puppy-dog expression on his pale face. Didn't he know she was more of a cat person? "Thanks for coming."

"The flower was a nice touch." She sounded too-tough, false.

"I got the idea out of _The Muggle's Guide to Wife-Beating_. There's a whole chapter on apologies called 'I Didn't Mean it, Baby.' It had some good tips."

"Funny."

"It sounded funny in my head," he said, embarrassed. "Less so out loud."

"Well, Malfoy, it's not like I don't know what you are. 'Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers.' Right? You should have sent it to yourself?"

He felt a white-hot flame of anger, but pushed it back down. _She has a right to be angry._

"I'm sorry. I was mad and I overreacted."

"I told you if you hurt me again we were through."

"You did. And yet, here you are," he said.

"Here I am. I guess I'm not good on the follow-through. You know, I'm not surprised at either of us. Like I said, I know what you are. It was only a matter of time before you actually started beating me up."

"I didn't beat you up, Granger," he snapped, angry again. "It was barely anything."

"You almost knocked me out, Malfoy. That's called beating someone up."

"Then why the hell are you here?" he burst out, rising from the bed and standing over her. The flame ignited once more, making his cheeks hot. God, she pushed him. "Why are you fucking me if I'm so terrible? What are you getting out of this, Granger? Does Weasley have a piece on the side? Is this still some elaborate ruse to get me thrown in jail, or worse? _Why are we here_?"

"You wouldn't understand, Malfoy. Look, I forgive you, alright? Let's just move on."

"Hermione -"

"Don't call me that!" Jean shouted, incensed. "Don't ever call me that! Don't you dare."

"Jesus, Granger. Calm the fuck down."

"You don't get to call me that," she said in a quieter voice.

"Is that crossing some line I don't know about?" he asked, more curious than angry now. "Is that why you don't call me Draco? You did once; you've never done it again."

"I don't call you Draco because it makes me physically ill. I know it would piss the girl off, but I can't bring myself to do it."

"'The girl?' What are you talking about, Granger?"

Jean looked at him, horrified. It was the first time she had messed up like that. _Not so cool and in charge, are you? I'm still here, still here, still he- _Jean shut the girl up by jumping onto Malfoy. She kissed him hungrily, trying to distract him. In moments they were naked; though the bed was behind them he pinned her to the wall.

"Look at me," he commanded, holding them both completely still. "I want to watch you."

She did as he asked, locking onto his eyes as he raised her up and entered her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, hoping that he would forget about her slip-up. It appeared to work, although Jean thought she could still hear the girl's triumph. Usually she cried or was silent when Jean had sex with Malfoy, but Jean could swear the girl was taunting her. It was faint, but it was there. _Is it good for you? Maybe you like Malfoy; that must be why you're still doing this. When I get out, you can have him all to yourself. And that'll be soon, because you're cracking up. I'm still here._

It was over quickly. Jean slid down and picked up her clothes.

"Hey. Do you want to go downstairs and get a drink?"

Draco was surprised by her request; they hadn't had a drink together since their very first time. In truth, Draco wanted very much to go home - their encounter had unnerved him even more than usual. It was obvious that Granger had some sort of agenda far more complicated than dirty sex with an old rival. But he supposed he could spare her a drink. Maybe alcohol would loosen her tongue a little bit. He nodded and gathered his own clothes.

"Turn around," she ordered.

"Granger, I've seen you naked before," he snorted in disbelief. "We were shagging two minutes ago, in case you've forgotten. And from the way you came, I doubt that's possible."

"Getting dressed and getting undressed are two different things," she said primly. "It's private."

He rolled his eyes, but dutifully turned away. "Whatever, Granger. You've got too many rules for yourself."

"That's how we get by in this world, Malfoy," Jean said, zipping up her jeans. "You've got to have rules. You can turn around."

"Gotta say, Granger, not your best look. You look like you pulled your clothes out of a house elf's hamper. How long has it been since the Cannons have won a game?"

"Probably as long as it's been since you've caught a snitch," she shot back, reveling in the anger that flitted across his face. "Now buy me a drink."

"As always, I am at your service." She was going to pay for her smart mouth, but good.

Downstairs, the bartender gave her another filthy smirk; she gave him another undetected stinging hex. Magic did have its advantages, and although Saint Hermione would never perform a hex on a defenseless muggle, Jean had no such problems with it.

"Watch it, Granger," Draco said with his own smirk. "You don't want your own department after you. I think I'm rubbing off on you."

"He's a pig," Jean said dismissively. "What are we drinking?"

"I'd like a firewhiskey, but I guess that's too much to ask. No chance of goblin-made wine, either, is there?"

"Don't be such a snob, Malfoy," Jean said. "Go get us a couple of shots of regular whiskey. If you can out drink me, I'll let you do something extra foul to me."

"You're on," he said, his eyes lighting up. He already had some things in mind.

Four shots later Jean felt better than she had since her whole ordeal started. The girl had absolutely nothing to say; for once, Jean was barely aware of her presence. Malfoy was laughing, his normally pale skin flushed with liquor and lust.

"There's no way you're going to beat me, Granger," he said. "This isn't a Transfiguration exam. Get ready, baby, cause I've got all sorts of ideas for us."

"Transfigure this, ferret," she said, laughing and showing him her middle finger. She saw a spark of that white-hot anger in his eyes, but pulled him in for a kiss. "What do I get if I win?"

"Never going to happen," he said. He wanted to stay angry for the ferret remark, but she had such a good-natured sparkle in her eyes that it was impossible. Draco realized that for the first time, he and Granger were actually having _fun_. It was almost... refreshing, he decided.

"But what if?" she persisted.

"Then you can do something to me," he relented. "But let's get something out of the way - absolutely nothing is going up my ass no matter what, you hear me?"

Jean roared with laughter, thinking about how much she would love to go against _that _particular demand. "Well, Malfoy, then you better win. Cause there are no rules in love and whiskey-drinking. Two more shots!"

Two hours later neither one of them could stand. They had matched each other shot for shot; Jean lost count at twelve. The bartender had declared them tied and demanded that they go upstairs and sleep it off. He refused to sell them even one more, despite their protests that there had to be a victor.

"You both win," he said. He propped each of them up over his shoulders and struggled up the stairs with them. He had plenty of practice. "Get your asses back upstairs; neither one of you is sober enough to fuck anyway. You better hope your spouses aren't expecting you home tonight."

"How you know I got a wife 'sides this one?" Draco slurred, stumbling up the stairs. "Maybe we're childhood swee-hearts."

"If you weren't married to other people you wouldn't spend all of your nights in this dump," the bartender answered. He unlocked the door and threw them unceremoniously onto the bed. "Sleep it off, lovebirds. Good luck with your hangovers in the morning." He slammed the door behind them.

Still giggling, Jean curled up next to Draco. She pulled off his shirt and kissed him sloppily. "I've never been this drunk before."

"Me neither," Draco confessed. "I hope you know a hangover spell. Is Weasel 'specting you home?"

"Dunno," Jean said. "What about Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Pro'ly," he answered, pulling her closer to him. "She'll live. Now how about some of those foul things you promised me?"

"Tomorrow," she said, suddenly tired. "You heard what that guy said. You probably can't even get it-"

"That's enough, woman," he said, covering her mouth with his hand. "Never say such a thing to me again. I'm always ready."

"Tomorrow, Malfoy," she said again, yawning. "Promise."

"'Kay. I'm a li'l sleepy m'self." He was out cold a moment later; Jean was right behind him.

She woke at dawn, her head feeling as if Lestrange was practicing her crucio skills on her again.

"Oh my God," she moaned. "I think I'm going to die."

_Serves you right. _

With a snap, Jean was completely awake. She had actually forgotten about the girl until she spoke. Her night with Malfoy came rushing back to her. She had actually - gasp - had a great time with him. She hadn't been thinking about revenge, hadn't been thinking about the girl. She'd been _enjoying his company_.

_I guess it's official. You like him, don't you? I guess you've gotten a bit too comfortable, huh? Some great plan, Jean - way to hook up with and fall for Malfoy. I knew you were a crazy bitch, but I didn't think you were that far gone. Was this your brilliant scheme all along? Take over my life so you could fuck Malfoy? Have you wanted him all this time? Crucio does some weird things to people. _Hermione choked on her hateful words, but she knew they were getting to Jean. Maybe this was the chance she needed.

"Shut up," Jean whispered. "That wasn't the plan. I don't like Malfoy, I hate him, I -"

_You keep telling yourself that. You can't hide the truth from me, though. Well, you're welcome to him. He's about all you're worth anyway. You were never good enough for Ron. It was only a matter of time before he caught on to you. You're nothing but the filthy slut Malfoy thinks you are._

"I'm going to kill you," Jean said._ Don't let the girl get the better of you, Jeannie-girl, she's just trying to test you._

The girl didn't answer, but she felt Malfoy stir on the bed beside her. Panicked, she apparated home. Ron was still asleep. She took two Weasley Hang-Over All-Over pills, took a quick, silent shower and slipped in beside him. The girl's words were ringing in her ears. It was time to show her just how serious she was. This was going to have to be Jean's last day. And the end of Hermione Granger's charmed little life.

X X X X

Draco woke to an empty bed, his head screaming and his mouth tasting like one of his Quidditch jockstraps.

"That little bitch," he said aloud to the deserted room. "She owed me this morning."

Draco's Granger-rage, that specific anger he so often felt about her was in full gear in the light of the day. He'd let himself get close to her last night, let himself enjoy _her_, not just her body. That wasn't what he needed from her, and it would only lead to danger. He already admitted his obsession with her - he couldn't afford to _like _her on top of everything else. She was hell-bent on destroying him, and he wasn't going to let it happen. She had to go first.

_I'm going to fuck you one last time, Granger, and then you're out of here. Out of my head, out of my life. Out of _your_ life, too._

He was going to have to kill Hermione Granger.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Do I really need to say it? All is JKR's of course.**

"Enjoy your last day, girl," said Jean to Hermione. "By the time night falls you're going to wish I stayed forever."

_Please think about this. Don't do it, please don't do it. Look, we can share, I'll do anything you ask, just - _

"Forget it!" Jean yelled."There is nothing you can say or do that will change my mind. Now you better shut up and let me work or it'll go even worse for you. Do. Not. Say. Another. Word."

Hermione didn't, but she couldn't stop her sobs. Hermione was cursing herself for baiting Jean about Malfoy; she had obviously sent her over the edge. Jean was determined to expose her affair with Malfoy that night and then leave, abandoning Hermione to Ron's wrath and anguish. She said she would still be watching, but tucked so far away Hermione could never call on her again. Hermione didn't know if Jean was capable of disappearing so completely, but she hadn't even been aware of Jean's presence for six years, so it was very likely Jean would follow through on her threats. Her cruciatus pain still kept Hermione weakened; she was trying desperately to get out before Jean won, but so far she hadn't even come close.

Jean stood before a mirror in their bedroom so the girl could see exactly what she was doing. She was pulling spiderweb-thin strips of silver from her head and laying them gently in a stone basin Ron had bought the girl for their second anniversary the year before. It was time the girl saw everything. She needed to know all the reasons for her punishment, all the reasons Jean couldn't just give up and give in. The girl might think she knew everything, but she was in for a surprise. She'd be begging for a life sentence soon, and it was no less than what she deserved.

X X X X 

Draco paced his study, muttering to himself and running his hands through his hair. He had to get this just right, or there was a good chance he'd be caught. He couldn't leave Granger's body at The Witch's Brew; even if he obliviated everyone in the bar there was still a chance someone might connect him with the place. He didn't want to use Avada Kedavra, either; better to kill her in a muggle way. True, it would stretch belief to think that the great and powerful Granger could be bested by a muggle, but if she had enough alcohol in her body people might buy it. He could probably transfigure the body so that it would never be found; he could even destroy his wand afterward so that all evidence pointing toward him would be erased. He rather liked the idea of her being found, though. Drunk, raped and murdered by filthy muggle hands, as befitted her birth. She would be horrified to think she would be discovered in such a common, humiliating way, and that added to his pleasure as well. Why turn her death into a mystery? She was no saint; better she be discovered as the whore she really was. She had messed with his mind for the last time, and now she was going to get what was coming to her.

Draco wasn't so far gone that he didn't feel guilty about what he was about to do. Regretful, too. She was a brilliant witch and a helluva lay. Part of him felt she _didn't _deserve the death he had planned for her; but the other part, the part she had corrupted and brought to the surface with her tainted kisses - that part of his brain thought it would suit her just fine. The angel on his shoulder had never been particularly strong, after all. It had a brief ruling these past six years, but now the devil was more than willing to take over. 

"Draco?" Story's tentative voice called him from the hallway. "Honey, can I come in? Are you working?"

Damn. Now he had her shit to deal with. Oh well, better to get it over with. 

"Of course, sweetie," he answered her. "You don't have to ask to come in. This is your house."

She came in slowly, closing the door behind her. "It doesn't feel like it sometimes. I didn't want to interrupt you."

"You are," he said. "But that doesn't mean the interruption has to be unwelcome. You look beautiful this evening."

She flushed with pleasure, happy that she had chosen to wear her new dress that night. It was green, of course, and clung to her nicely. Perhaps she could convince him to stay in.

"I have to go out," he said, as if reading her mind. "The deal should be finished tonight, though. You'll have me all to yourself again."

She wanted to feel happy, but there was a strange gleam in her husband's eyes that Story had never seen before. She didn't like or trust it, but the only thing she could do was take his words at face value.

"I'm glad," she said, walking over to him and wrapping her arms around his waist. She laid her head on his chest and breathed in his scent. He smelled like cedar, as always, but there was something else, a whiff of something she couldn't quite place. It didn't smell like her husband. She looked uncertainly up at him, but his eyes were far away. She kissed him lightly on the cheek and walked out of the room, giving him one last puzzled look. It wasn't until she was almost upstairs that she recognized the scent. It was one that she remembered from their Hogwarts days. Violence. 

Story didn't want to know what her husband's "business deal" consisted of, no thank you very much. She went to her bedroom and crossed quickly to her nightstand and brought out something she hoped she'd never have to use: a sleeping draught, laced with a little extra something. Alexa had given it to her, but Story had never been tempted to use it before. Now she was grateful for her friend's private apothecary. She took the pill without water, grimacing at the powdery taste. When she awoke in the morning, she wouldn't remember anything from the night before. Somehow, she thought that was best.

X X X X

"I want you to look closely, _Hermione_," Jean said, drawing out her enemy's name. "You watch what you did, and then tell me you didn't mean it, tell me it wasn't your fault. Watch, little girl. You deserve everything you get."

_**"Mummy, can we set the table for Jeannie, too?" five-year-old Hermione Granger asked her mother. "She wants to come to dinner. Roast beef is her favorite."**_

_**"Of course we can, sweetie," Mrs. Granger looked down at her only child fondly. "Why did you think I made it tonight? I know what you girls like. Is Jean the only friend you want to invite?"**_

_**"She's the only one I have, Mummy, you know that," Hermione answered. "We're holding hands right now. Jeannie always plays the games I want to play. None of the other kids like my games."**_

_**Hermione's mother's expression changed to one of wistfulness. Hermione's imaginary friend, Jean, was becoming more and more real to her daughter. She knew that lots of little children, especially bright, imaginative ones like her daughter, had imaginary friends. But she would feel a lot better if Hermione had even one real friend. Oh well. It would come... **_

The picture shifted, and Hermione found herself looking at her father as he led her eleven-year-old self to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

_**"Are you ready for your first day, Hermione?" Her father was standing next to her, looking proud but very nervous, too. It wasn't every day that one found out their child was a witch and sent her off to some school to learn magic. It was a lot to process.**_

_**"Of course, Daddy," she said. Hermione was eager; she couldn't wait to get on that train and go to her new life. She couldn't wait to finally make some real friends, too. She was way too old for Jean, who still crept into her head from time to time. **_**Grow up, Hermione**_**, she told herself. **_**You're a big girl now**

Hermione had almost started to smile at her younger self when suddenly she was thrown again, and the scene she least wanted to see was before her.

_**God, it hurt, it hurt! She couldn't take any more, couldn't **_**feel **_**anymore. **_**Please make it stop, please**_**. Her mind was racing, trying to grasp any thought that would help her, that would take her away from the agony she was feeling. A picnic. Two little girls under a tree sharing tea and biscuits. Only one of the girls wasn't really there, was she? **_**Jean**_**. Her old friend, her other half. When she was little Jean was a comfort to her. Who needed real friends? She had Jean, the little girl in the mirror. They looked the same, talked the same, even shared the same name. Jean always did what Hermione asked her to. Jean could help her, Jean could save her.**_

_**"Hermione? Are you okay?" There she was!**_

_**"Help me, Jean, can you hear me? Help me!"**_

_**Without thinking, Jean rushed toward her. Hermione grabbed her desperately, trying as hard as she could to get them away from the agony of cruciatus. But it didn't work; suddenly they had switched places and Jean was screaming instead. Hermione fell to her feet, weakened by the curse and watched her oldest friend suffer in her stead. She felt powerless to stop her. She turned away...**_

"Well, princess? What do you have to say for yourself now?"

Hermione recoiled from the pensieve. She had forgotten. Jean had been her imaginary playmate since the time she was four years old - how could she have forgotten her? All this time, Jean had been buried within her. 

"You wanted to forget," Jean spat out. "You wanted to absolve yourself. You threw me aside when you went to Hogwarts, when you met Harry and Ron. I wasn't jealous, I was happy for you, proud. And then when you were suffering you asked me for help, Hermione, and when I answered you threw me to the wolves!"

_Jean, no, it wasn't like that, I swear I didn't know what would happen. I was desperate, I was hurting._

"You did nothing to stop her!" Jean screamed. "You could have tried, it was _your_ punishment, not mine. You left me there. You turned back to your life and you just left me in the dark, in anguish. You have the nerve to expect me to take pity on you? I should have come out years ago. I wish Malfoy _had _raped you at Hogwarts. I wish you had died in battle, I wish you every little bit of torment and suffering you have coming to you. When Harry and Ron get through with you, fucking Malfoy's going to feel like a walk in the park. I might invite the whole Weasley clan tonight, wouldn't that be nice?"

_I know you hate me, but what about Ron? Why would you hurt him?_

"He's better off without you! You don't deserve him, and he certainly doesn't deserve a lying, whoring bitch like you. No, don't you dare try to act innocent. You could have stopped me at any time, and you know it!"

_That's not true! You're doing all of this to me!_

"Keep thinking that, princess. I know the truth, and so do you. Come on, it's time for Malfoy. We can't keep our lover waiting, can we? You're going to have to endure him one more time, but don't worry. Ron and Harry will break up the little party soon enough."

X X X X

It was time. Draco took a deep breath, steadying his shaking hands with a shot of firewhiskey. They were meeting at nine, much earlier than usual, but she had requested the time. He had it planned: plow her with liquor, screw her, choke her, dump her. Easy as first-year charms. When she was gone he could get back to his life, back to Story, back to reality. He would be free of this devil once and for all.

X X X X

"We're a little early, but I wanted to make sure we're all set," Jean said. They were back in their bedroom at The Witch's Brew. The girl was close to hyperventilating, and Jean could feel her fighting with everything she had. It just wasn't enough, she wasn't strong enough. Jean could almost taste her victory. So close...

"I better practice," Jean said to the girl. "I don't want to cast the patronous and find it different than yours. Ron won't recognize anything but that little otter. Do you remember when your mom took us to the zoo and we saw the otters for the first time? They were so cute, sweet and playful. I don't know how I could conjure anything else, but I better make sure." Jean wanted Ron and Harry to arrive just as she was finishing with Malfoy, so she had to time her summons perfectly. She had thought of sending them owls, but decided that the girl's patronous would better relay urgency. All they had to do was follow it back to this dingy little place and catch their darling girl with the hated ferret. And she could just stand back and watch. And laugh.

Jean held onto that image. "Expecto Patronum!" she shouted, thinking of the glory she would soon enjoy. Nothing. "Expecto Patronum!" Nothing. "_EXPECTO PATRONUM_!" Nothing, not even a whisp of silver.

_Here it is, _thought Hermione_. Here's my chance._

"You don't have any happiness, Jean," said Hermione, speaking out loud for the first time since she'd been imprisoned. Jean looked horrified as the words came unbidden out of her own traitorous mouth. "I guess this is one spell you're incapable of casting. I'm sorry I sapped you of all of your joy, but you're just a hollow shell anyway. You were never supposed to live, never supposed to have your own thoughts and feelings. It's time for me to come back."

"No!" Jean screeched, holding on for dear life. "You do not get to win, I am not giving up so easily. Expecto Patronum!"

"It's no use," the girl said from inside of her. Jean tried covering her mouth with her hands but it was no use. The girl kept speaking. "Come on, just let me out. I'm not mad, I promise. I'll leave right now, before Malfoy gets here, and we can forget this ever happened. We can heal together, no more pain, no more anger. Both of us together." Hermione could barely believe it, but she felt so close to breaking out, that if Jean gave just a little bit, she might be free.

"I'll kill us both before I let that happen, Hermione," Jean said, forgetting herself and uttering the hated name. "You're not getting out until we finish this."

"You don't mean that. Jean, it's over, just let me out. Please, forgive me and I can forgive you."

"What do you have to forgive me for?" Jean screeched. "You're the guilty one, Hermione!"

Out in the hallway, Draco stood frozen beside the door. Who the hell was in there with Granger? 


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: JKR's, of course.**

Instead of bursting in wand blazing, Draco decided to listen a little longer. Already his plan to kill Granger that night was screwed - he couldn't very well off the bitch if she had company, and despite his murderous rage, he really wasn't up for killing innocent bystanders. Plus, the little bit of conversation he could hear was very intriguing - maybe whoever was in the room with her would finish the job for him. He pulled an Extendable Ear out of his pocket - yes, it was humiliating to have purchased the Weasley device, but damn if it didn't come in handy - and slid it quietly under the door. There. Now he could hear everything.

"You'll never get away with this, Jean," he could hear Granger say. "If you call Ron here, I'll just tell him I was under the Imperius Curse."

"Oh, how long did it take you to come up with that one, girl?" the other voice laughed, and fuck him, but _that _sounded like Granger, too. The voices were subtly different, but with a start, Draco realized that the _second _voice was the one that sounded most like the woman he had been sleeping with for the last few months. "There are ways to disprove that, Princess Hermione."

"No, there aren't," said the first (_same?)_ girl. "Otherwise all those Death Eaters would have been locked up for following Voldemort. A lot of them claimed Imperius, and got away with it, too, including your darling boyfriend's asshole father."

"God, how I wish I had made you fuck him, too."

"I'd rather die!"

"Like I said, you're going to get your wish," Granger Two (that's how he was hearing them now) snarled. Who _was _she? "Or at least you'll wish you were dead. Just remember, girl, you're not perfect. You haven't tried to stop me, not really. You've let me do everything. Have you been panting after Malfoy since Hogwarts, just like he was for you -for us? I think you've wanted everything. It just made you feel better to play the victim."

"You're disgusting!" the first girl shrieked. "All I've been doing is trying to stop you! You've let him rape me over and over again, and you liked it! I didn't want any of this and you are NOT MY FAULT!"

All of Draco's rage had slipped into complete confusion; nothing he was hearing was making any sense at all. He didn't rape Granger, far from it. He certainly hadn't put her under the Imperius curse, either. She was making it sound like this other girl did - but who _was _she? They sounded almost exactly the same. Did Granger have a twin? Is that who he had been sleeping with? If that was true, he was a bit disappointed. He wanted Granger, not some copy. But no, that couldn't be it. Someone would have known if she had a sister. What in the name of Merlin was going on?

"Whose fault was it, then, huh? The fucking Rotfang Conspiracy? You let her torture me because you weren't strong enough, how can you stand there and deny it?"

"It was an accident, Jean," Granger pleaded. "You know that - can't you see we're the same? Your pain is my pain, I was there, too!"

"Oh, we're the same, huh? So it _was_ your choice to sleep with Malfoy and end your marriage, huh? Finally taking responsibility for your own actions, girl?"

"No, that's not what I meant, I didn't want this."

"Too fucking bad."

Draco couldn't take it anymore; he had to find out what was going on. He opened the door slowly, quietly, and saw... Granger. _Just_ Granger, looking wild, her hair looking as if it had been run through with a static spell. She was facing the mirror; she hadn't seen him yet.

"Look, we can still fix this," Granger said to the mirror. "We were friends, once, remember? It really doesn't have to be this way."

"How else is it supposed to be?" Granger said, _in the second voice_. Draco stared, transfixed, at the woman before her. Both voices were coming from her; she was talking to herself in the mirror. "Are you suggesting we kiss and make up now? It's never going to happen. Malfoy's on his way, and as soon as he gets here I'm going to let him take you one last time, and then call your darling husband. Fuck him - he never loved me anyway. It's always about you."

"Jean -" Draco didn't give her a chance to finish her sentence. He had seen enough. Granger was stark, raving mad.

"What the hell," he breathed. Granger whipped her head around, her eyes wide and horrified. She took a step away from him, looking wildly around the room.

"Malfoy," she gulped. "It's not what you think."

"I think you're crazy."

"He's got you there, girlie," Granger said, slipping into a smirk. "I guess the jig is up, huh? Well, it was fun while it lasted."

"Oh my God," he managed. "What - how -"

"Help me, Malfoy," Granger pleaded, her voice and expression changing to desperation. "I can't get out, she's got me trapped. It's Jean, it's been her all along. That's who you've been with, it hasn't been me, please help me."

"Shut up!" Granger shouted, back to her sneering self. "It's over, he's seen me, seen both of us. This isn't really what I had in mind, but I guess it'll do just as well."

"Who are you?" Draco whispered. "_What_ are you?"

"Jean," she said matter-of-factly. "The girl's better half, I like to think. I really had this worked out better, but you were a bit early, Malfoy. Didn't I tell you not to be so over-eager?"

"I don't understand," he said, still horrified. He stood with his back to the wall, his wand dangling from his hand. Granger smirked at him again and threw herself down on the bed.

"Oh, it's a big, long drama," she said. "Nothing for you to get your pretty little pureblood head in a fuss about. Of course, this means we're not going to be doing it anymore. No offense, I mean, you're pretty good, I suppose, but I'm really relieved. It was mostly to get the girl back anyway. My little form of revenge. Worked, too. If she wasn't crazy before, she is now."

"Malfoy, please help me. Can't you see she's no good? Look what she's done to us!" Granger rose off the bed and came toward him, that desperate look in her eyes again. He shrank away from her.

"Don't touch me," he pleaded. "Whoever - whatever you are, just don't touch me."

"Didn't seem to mind it before," the smirking Granger said, moving away from him. "You were positively panting for the little goody-two-shoes. Sorry to disappoint you, Malfoy, but you were with me the whole time. Princess here wouldn't have touched you. I didn't want to either, to tell you the truth. I even threw up a couple of times afterwards. I hate you as much as she does, but _I'm_ willing to go above and beyond for the greater good. No offense meant, of course."

His rage was back. So she never wanted him, huh? This was just some sick game she was playing after all, was probably _still_ playing. She must have known he was out there, so she decided to toy with him._ There's no one else in here after all. I can still kill the little bitch. _He gripped his wand again and advanced on her slowly; she took a step back for every one of his.

"Malfoy," Granger had obviously seen the look in his eyes and was going back to playing the victim. "Don't - please don't listen to her. She was just trying to hurt me; it's not my fault she brought you into this. I'm really sorry, I never knew you felt that way about me, I never-"

"Felt _what _way, you little mudblood slut?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "I never felt _any _way about you, except superior. I just wanted to own you Granger, knock you off your fucking high horse and it wasn't too hard, now was it? _You_ came to _me_, bitch, remember? You begged for it, so you can quit this game right now. You can't take it back now, Granger, no matter how crazy you want to act." He stood before her now, his hands twitching with the urge to wrap around her neck.

"It's not an act, lover," Granger Two said. "She's crazier than Luna Lovegood, if you can dig it. Bat-shit crazy, as the muggles say."

"I'm sick of this shit!" Draco yelled, finally raising his wand at her. "Cut it out!"

"Oh, stuff it, Malfoy," she said, laughing and moving away from him again. "You saw what they did to her; you were there when I came, after all. Don't act all surprised and innocent now."

"What are you talking about?"

"Crucio, Malfoy, keep up!" she said, snapping her fingers. "Don't you remember your Auntie Bella whapping her with it? She wasn't exactly gentle, was she? I should know: I got the brunt of it. The girl here gave out and brought me up to deal with it. Only it didn't work the way she wanted, because I didn't go away, I just hid for a little while. And then I got out, and I'm just as bonkers as she is."

He stared at her in disbelief, her words hitting him like a hex. He had heard of the torture curse leaving permanent damage when used too enthusiastically; everyone in the wizarding community knew about Longbottom's senile parents. He had never imagined it could do something like this, but the evidence was staring him in the face. Despite that devil telling him it was a lie, telling him she was still trying to hurt him, he knew what she said was true. He felt sick and very, very sorry.

"Caught on, have you?"

"Granger -"

"Oh, just say Jean already, it'll help you keep us straight," Jean said, rolling her eyes. "This really, really isn't how I wanted this to go, Malfoy. It was supposed to be simple; I was just going to call the girl's husband, maybe Harry, too and then hop back inside, leaving her to deal with the mess. I was kind of looking forward to you getting your ass kicked, too, I never liked you, sorry. And I owe you for slapping me around."

"You never liked me?" Draco bit out, his face nearly scarlet. "Well, I fucking hate you. You've been making me just as crazy as you are these last few months. I can't get enough of you, but I want to hurt you, too. Did you infect me with something?"

"Just your better nature coming out, Malfoy."

"No!" he shouted. "I wasn't like this anymore until you came around. I was better; I had left all that shit behind._ You_ did this to me."

"I'm sorry she did this to us, I tried to stop her," Granger said, snapping back into place and crying harder than ever. "But I can't. She's right, I've got to pay for what I did to her. Everything she says is true, I made her help me, and I made her take the curse."

"There's no _her_, Granger," he said. "It's just you in there. If you don't want to be crazy, make her go away."

"It's not that simple," Jean said, her eyes flashing. "Don't go giving her ideas, Malfoy, and don't think you can sweet talk me now, girl. It's too late for that; your little show of sorrow means nothing to me. I'm here and I'm not leaving. You, Malfoy, on the other hand, are free to do just that. I won't be requiring your services anymore. There's been a change of plans. I'm going to obliviate this bitch. She'll be gone for good and you can return to your pureblood manor, none the worse for wear. You're getting off easy, Malfoy, and you should enjoy the girl's comeuppance."

"No!" Hermione screamed, running to Draco and desperately holding onto him. "You can't leave me here with her, you've got to get Ron, he can make her go away, he can help me - help us."

"Granger, let go," Draco said, extracting her from him. "I'm not running after the Weasel for you. You want him to see you like this? You want him to know what we've been doing? He's not going to listen to your little Jean excuse. I barely believe it – what do you think he's going to say?"

"He's got you there, girl," Jean snickered. "Go ahead, Malfoy, get our husband for me. I'd love to hear his take on this situation."

"Malfoy, _please_."

"Please _what_, Granger?" Draco huffed. "We're not friends, remember? Why should I help you when all you've done is fuck up my life? What do I care if your sick little alter ego takes over? As long as you're both out of my hair, that's all that should matter."

"Yeah, but I'll always be under your skin, won't I?" Jean taunted him. "You never got _her_, though, did you? Personally, I think you got the better deal, but perhaps I'm a bit biased. Run along now, Malfoy. I don't want you anymore."

As angry as Draco was at Granger, he was ten times more furious than with this Jean bitch. As if one Hermione Granger wasn't bad enough! Maybe she was right; maybe he _should_ just walk out and leave Granger to her just desserts. He turned to go.

"Malfoy, no." He couldn't resist looking at her once more; the real Granger was staring at him with terrified, hopeless eyes. She looked exactly as she had the night his aunt had tortured her; Draco realized right then whose side he was on, and it certainly wasn't Jean's. She might have shared Granger's torture, but she wasn't the only one still suffering from it. It reached much further than her; Draco could almost feel the curse himself. He knew what he had to do.

"C'mon, kiddo. Why are you letting her win? She's yours, Granger, to do with as you wish. Who is she, really, just some figment of your imagination? Get rid of her."

"She's too strong."

"Bugger that, Granger," he said. "Since when does Hermione Granger Weasley let someone get the better of her? You certainly never let me. You didn't let Aunt Bella, either. God, you took that curse like a champ. Screaming, yes, but you never told her a fucking thing, did you?"

"She wasn't the one being tortured!" Jean roared in indignation. "She was free to keep her bloody secrets, wasn't she? _I _was the one taking the curse, me! She can't send me away, Malfoy, _I _own_ her_, not the other way around!"

"Bollocks," he said. All his hatred towards Granger was suddenly gone, lost in the sight of her madness and suffering. Jean was toxic, that much was clear. But Granger was innocent; _she _wasn't the one destroying his mind, destroying his marriage. Yes, she was a part of it; Jean _was _her, in a way. We all have the devil on our shoulders, don't we? Still, Draco found he could not blame her, and he could not abandon her, either. "Granger - Hermione - deal with this bitch once and for all. You don't owe her anything; I think she's more than taken her revenge. You think she suffered in your place? You're still feeling the effects of that curse, Hermione, not her. She's too far gone to come back, but you're not. Make her go away."

Hermione looked at him in despair. What he was saying filled her with hope, but she was almost too scared to believe him. She felt stronger than she had since Jean took over, but also sadder, too. What he was saying... Was she really strong enough to come back for good? Did she deserve her perfect life after everything that happened? Could she really murder Jean, who was her childhood friend, her other half?

"NO!" Jean shrieked. "No, I will not let you, I will not, I will -"

"Granger, come back," Draco pleaded.

Hermione felt Jean scream again, this time from inside her, not out. She felt pain, agony like nothing she had ever felt, worse than crucio, worse than anything imaginable. It was the feeling of death. And then it was gone, _Jean _was gone, and she was alone.

"Draco?"

"Hermione?" She nodded and collapsed in a heap on the floor. He went slowly over to her, sank to his knees and held her while she sobbed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: One last time, all is JKR's.**

Epilogue

It was two years before they met again. Draco was in Diagon Alley picking up some shower supplies for Alexa. How he had gotten roped into such a girlie chore was beyond him, but he supposed it was his baby, too, as Alexa reminded him over and over again every time he grumbled about helping her. He hoped Goldstein would have to help Story when Alexa finally shot out a kid. She'd better do it soon, too, because Pansy was already on baby two, and Draco knew Alexa couldn't stand to be upstaged by the likes of Pansy Parkinson Nott. He grinned at the thought of his baby. Story was due in two months, and for him it couldn't come soon enough. He wanted to know the sex, but Story was adamant that it be a surprise. Draco secretly thought it was a boy.

He was startled out of his thoughts by the sight of her - Granger. She was emerging from a bookstore (_of course_, he thought ruefully) and from the looks of her, Weasley was finally starting his own brood; her stomach looked bigger than her hair, which was saying a lot. He watched her from a distance for awhile before bracing himself and walking over to her.

"'Morning, Granger," he addressed her pleasantly, making her jump. He saw brief panic in her eyes before she relaxed and gave him a small smile.

"Malfoy," she greeted him. "You scared me."

"Not my intention, I assure you," he said. "Let me help you; you look a bit weighed down."

"Thanks," she said, allowing him to take her bag. "Ron would kill me if he knew I was shopping by myself, but I'm bored! Ginny's home with her boys, and Mrs. Weasley didn't have time today, and-" She stopped, as if suddenly aware that she was rambling to Draco as if they were friends. She looked confused, unsure of what to do. He grinned at her, trying to put her at ease.

"Here, let me buy you some tea," he offered. She nodded uncertainly and let him lead her to Bubble, Bubble, Toil and Trouble, a new outside cafe. She sat down with some effort, still looking at him warily.

"I understand what you're saying," Draco said, after he had ordered them two herbal teas. "Story's an absolute bear; she wants to do everything for herself and refuses to accept that she can't."

"I heard you were expecting, congratulations," Hermione said. "How far along is she?"

"Seven months."

Hermione groaned. "Tell her to talk to me in another month. I'm so tired and fussy all the time that it's no wonder Ron practically keeps me locked in the house. I've only been off work for one week and I'm already driving him crazy."

"Now, how could you drive anyone crazy?" he teased. In truth, he was acting far more comfortable than he felt. It was very strange to be sitting with her in the open. Regardless of everything that had happened, it wasn't as if they had ever been friends.

Their tea arrived and they sipped it in silence. No one appeared to think it was odd that Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger Weasley were sharing a drink, but Diagon Alley wasn't particularly crowded that day, for which he was grateful. He didn't want to attract attention.

"You're looking well, Granger," he said finally.

"I'm a house, Malfoy," she said flatly. "But thank you. So are you."

"Do you mind if I ask?" Draco said suddenly. He hadn't meant to bring it up, but his curiosity would not allow otherwise.

"No Jean," Hermione said, blushing. "Not since that night. I'm in therapy at St. Mungo's. That helps."

"So am I," he admitted. "We must be there on off days."

"Do you talk about me?"

"Some," he said. "I've got other issues, though. Story says she's noticed a big difference since I've started, so I'm keeping with it."

"I told Ron," she said. "Not about you, but about Jean herself. I don't think he could have forgiven _that_, and he probably would have killed you."

"Then I appreciate it," he said drily. "But you told him about her?"

"Yes, Harry and Ginny, too," she replied. "He was really upset for me, but he's been great. He doesn't bring it up - even when I'm acting a little cuckoo, he never throws it in my face."

"That's good," Draco stated. "I, of course didn't mention any of it to Story. I just said I was having some problems dealing with my past and wanted to talk to someone. She was really relieved. Apparently, I was acting like quite the nutjob for awhile, too."

"My therapist said it's not unusual for people who've suffered great stress," said Hermione. "I talk about it to him, and it helps keep me sane. You really helped me, too."

"I didn't do anything, Granger," he protested. "God, if you had any idea what was going through my mind then, you'd know not to thank me."

"I have a pretty good idea," she said. "You were messed up, too, she was poisoning both of us. I think, since you were there when it happened, when _she_ happened, she latched on to you, and you reacted to that. I don't really want to talk about it, though. Is that all right?"

"Of course, I'm sorry-"

"No, don't be," Hermione assured him. "You had a right to ask, and I'm kind of glad I'm getting to thank you now."

"I really wish you wouldn't. I'm pretty ashamed of the way I acted and treated you."

"You saved me," she said simply. They sat quietly for a few more moments, before Hermione reached over and took Draco's hand. She gave it a little squeeze, and then rose to her feet.

"Good seeing you, Draco," she said. "I better get back. No, don't get up. See you around?"

"You bet," he answered, watching her waddle off. His tea got cold while he sat looking after her; finally he rose, leaving a few galleons on the table.

"Bye, Hermione," he whispered, and then apparated home to his wife.

**A/N A little neat, I know, but I am a fan of the happy ending, and I wanted to make this story DH epilogue compliant. Thanks for reading!**


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